


Songs for the Nature Boy and the Runaway

by thesketchytepe



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AnnieLeonhart, AruAni, F/M, Oneshot, aot - Freeform, arminarlert, attackontitan, snk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:37:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 72,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24760147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesketchytepe/pseuds/thesketchytepe
Summary: A collection of one-shots for Aruani fans in the Attack on Titan world. Each chapter is based off songs and is told through its tune and lyrics. Scenarios differ on each song including POVS and AU/Canon-verse.  There are a million different ways to tell if they're a good person for you.
Relationships: Armin Arlert/Annie Leonhart
Comments: 11
Kudos: 50





	1. Introduction

**So I’m gonna try something here, and you lovely reader are a part of the experiment. I’ve rekindled with my obsession with Attack on Titan (which sucks because the series is coming to an end soon and we all know how that’s going down) and, with it, my crazy conspiracy theories as to why Armin and Annie are meant for each other. Instead of finishing my already existing Aruani fanfic (I’m sorry to those who know what I’m talking about, but I’ve honestly forgotten everything that was supposed to happen and I can’t get back into that specific frame of mind!), I’m gonna try my hand at one-shots. 

This is a challenge for me because everything I write is long and carefully planned out. Here I plan to write under a certain amount of words and come up with little scenarios for the two blondies. These one-shots are all based on songs that I can’t personally relate to, but my OTP can, and that’s all that matters. I’ll title each chapter with the song and artist in case you guys want to listen to what I’m trying to convey in my writing. Songs might be super metaphorical or clear as day—one shots may be angst or fluff, canon-verse or AU, Armin’s POV or Annie’s. Anything can happen and I’ll put a spoiler alert on if I end up focusing on certain parts in the manga. 

I’ll post my first chapter (Nature Boy) within the next day or two. If you wanna get a head start, Nature Boy and Runaway are both songs by AURORA. You might get a lot of songs from her because I’m in love with her voice and lyrics. I have no ending in mind; this is where I’ll put random one-shots that pop into my mind, whenever that may be. Again, it’s all a test for me, to see if I can follow my own rules, express the same theme as the song I’ve chosen, stay in character, and, hopefully, please you wonderful Aruani and/or Attack on Titan fans. 

Thank you for your reading eyes and interest in my fics! I hope you enjoy my little experiment. *insert Hanji giggle here*


	2. Nature Boy (AURORA)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Super metaphorical, but I had a whole lot of fun making this. Annie’s chapter (Runaway) should be coming out soon. These blonds are the destroyers and creators of worlds and I love them both**

She sauntered through the water in big, slow steps. It was murky and empty down here. She didn’t know where she was going, but she knew she had to follow the vague light ahead, a blurry mist in the suffocating atmosphere. Where the light was coming from or why she had to catch it, she wasn’t sure. But it had been planted in the back of her brain like a tracker to capture it and bring it back. 

The top of her head eventually broke the surface, but she still couldn’t breathe. She didn’t have to—she was a machine, a puppet. The water was no longer the hazy grey she walked through below; it was now a calm blue and gentle waves pushed against her spine. As the water poured from her body in rivers, she looked up and saw a tiny piece of land, so tiny that she could easily see the whole island without turning her head or peering into the distance. Lush green trees sprouted from the sandy floor. Books were scattered among the shore and a few drifted out into the sea and towards her. 

Her eyes followed one that floated pass her. It had a leather backing and the edge of the pages were black from use. Strangely enough, the book itself wasn’t damaged in any way, despite being swallowed up by the cool waves crawling toward the island’s shore. It looked old and greatly loved like a teddy bear. 

She glanced back at the island and spotted something she hadn’t noticed before. A little boy, hair as bright as the sun, had just closed one of the land’s tales and began making his way to another one. He looked at his bare feet as he shuffled through the sand; his sky blue sweater flapped in the breeze like the waves around her. 

Her body was set on auto-pilot and kept on walking. She ultimately reached the island; she felt her feet sink into the wet shore, glossy brown and pleasantly warm. They kicked at the powdery white sand (which was soft and not too hot) and a handful of grains were tossed onto a nearby book. It looked like soft stars on a warm summer’s night. 

She slowed to a stop and stared at the boy a few feet from her. His back was to her as he picked up a new book and gently brushed away the sand coating it. He turned around and was startled when he saw her. The boy was skinny and small and his face was so young that he was probably older than she thought he was. He had a round, button nose and thin pink lips. His skin was as pale as the sand beneath them and his eyebrows were thick and dark, probably the only masculine feature of his. But his eyes—God, those gorgeous eyes—were as wide and blue as the very ocean she just emerged from. Yet there was a mysterious sadness in them that intrigued her. 

“Oh!” He flinched, but quickly melted into a playful smile. “You scared me.” 

His voice was so gentle yet so high that, if she weren’t a machine, she would’ve laughed at the sound. 

He held the old book close to his chest and his smile softened. “It’s nice to see another person here. I haven’t seen anyone in a while.” 

But she wasn’t a person. She was a warrior. Out of habit, she looked down at herself to see her uniform, itchy beige shorts and a star on her arm. She then realized that she wasn’t wearing it or anything at all. Her breasts hung limply, and ocean water traced each curve and dip in her body. 

She was transparent; there was no use in hiding. This boy saw right through her and, for the first time in a while, she felt afraid. 

“I’m Armin,” he chirped. “What’s your name?” 

She had no choice but to tell him. 

“Annie? That’s a pretty name.” He looked around them. “Do you like to read?” 

She didn’t answer. 

“I think it’s important, to read books,” he went on. He swayed from side to side. “We get to learn about ourselves and other people and the world we live in. I think it’s very interesting.” 

He paused and peered at her with the eyes of a curious cat. “Why are you here?” 

She was retold of her mission. It slumped heavily on her shoulders. She didn’t want to think about it, so her gaze drifted off to the side and into the woods. It was green and full and smelled of fresh rain. Tiny purple flowers poked out of the ground and some apples hung from the trees above them. Darkness dwelled deep within those woods, however, despite the beautiful scenery surrounding them. It reminded her of the boy’s eyes. 

Her body shifted to the darkness, but before she could take a step, the boy piped up, “Look what I found.” 

Her eyes traveled to his once again. There was an almost desperate look in them. She peered into his hand stretched out to her. There sat a seashell—it was a cream color and curved elegantly into itself like the columns on a Greek temple. Long skinny strips of dark seaweed were entangled in it. 

“There’s a lot of these around here,” he explained as she carefully took it from him. “You can take it back home if you want.” 

You’d promise to come back home. 

Her fingers brushed against his when she plucked the shell from his palm. His hand was the same texture as the sand beneath them—soft, warm, clingy. She had the urge to fold them within hers, but she knew her fingers were cold and hard. They’d probably hurt him, so she kept to herself. 

She held the lovely shell in both of her hands and the wet seaweed clung to her skin. She blinked once she saw the green slices wrap itself slowly around her wrists and travel up her forearms. Swirly designs curled around her muscles and outlined the blue veins around her wrists and inner elbows. It felt nice against her skin—it was like someone was dragging their cool, bony fingers around her flesh. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” 

The boy’s voice was suddenly deeper (though not by much) and she looked back up at him. He had grown (again, not by much) and looked almost the same when he was smaller except his jaw was more defined and his limbs were broader. The blue sweater he wore was gone, blending into the sky above, and he now wore a uniform similar to what she used to wear. His looked more comfortable though, more honorable. 

The sadness in his eyes was a bit more apparent, but he still smiled. 

“The world is speaking to you,” he whispered, his pearly white teeth shining like the sun. “What is it saying?” 

You’d promise to come back home. 

It was quiet and distant, but she could still hear them. She listened to the kindness and it brought tears to her eyes. She never felt love like this before; she didn’t know it even existed in this way. 

She smiled back at him and opened her mouth to thank him, but the sluggish way he turned his head back to the shore and the way his little pink lips cracked open in shock scared her. She followed his gaze. 

The once calm blue ocean had now become a deep red hue and the waves were violent, crashing into one another with a loud scream. All color drained from the sky and vicious storms closed in on them. Terrible moaning and terrifying sobbing could be heard from somewhere in the red sea. 

“You’ve brought a war with you,” said the boy. He uttered this in a tone as if he were expecting it. 

She whipped back to him, fear ripping through her chest, making her knees tremble and her fingers dig into the seashell protectively as if it were a knife. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the island getting bigger—the woods expanded and the sandy shore ran for miles. The trees limped sadly and the flowers withered away and the big round apples fell to the ground, rotten and shriveled up. It was as if the light was trying to run from the oncoming darkness. 

Her eyes dropped onto herself. She was covered in blood—red oozed from her like rain, her skin forever tainted this horrible color. The seaweed was still wrapped firmly around her arms, however, and the shell, though soaked with blood, still encouraged her. 

She began to sob. Her shoulders shook, her lip quivered, her chest heaved. The world became hazy like when she was below the sea, but she kept her eyes on the seashell. 

“Don’t cry. I know you don’t mean it.” 

He entered her vision again. The sadness in his eyes was obvious now; he couldn’t hide it anymore. The red ocean reflected in his gaze and the sight weighed him down as if the moon was on his back. She brought this. She did this to him and it was all her fault. 

He then leaned down and gathered a few more books at their feet. He hurried to the shore and then threw them into the ocean of blood. When they landed, the water around them slowly faded back into its original calm blue color. 

She called out to him. What was he doing? He loved those books—they were his salvation, his sense of self. In them contained so much knowledge and secrets to the world beyond this island. And here he was, tossing them like it didn’t mean anything. He was literally giving up a part of himself in attempt to stop the flow of slaughter. 

He looked back at her. A tiny smile graced his lips and she saw the little boy again. “The greatest thing you’ll ever learn,” he said, “is to love and be loved in return.” 

He continued flinging light into the darkness. Blue splashed in red and the contrast between them was incredible—it was the same ocean but, like with everything else, there were two sides to every story. The madness grew, however, and it frightened her more than anything else. Was there any hope? Were they simply born to suffer and die? 

As the screaming got louder and books practically rolled to the boy, providing more opportunities to do the right thing, she lumbered to him, dragging her bloodied feet through the warm sand. You’d promise to come back home. But where was it? She thought it was back out there in the storm, but she felt no love of a home there. This place made her feel like she belonged. She cared about this boy and, strangely, he cared about her too. 

The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is to love and be loved in return. 

So that’s what she’ll do. She’ll return the shell and drown for him, so he’ll stop giving up his life. He deserved to have it kept. 

She walked back into the red ocean; she wore the color well. The boy saw her offer the shell back to him and his eyes—those sad, sad eyes—widened. He paused and then shook his head. 

“I won’t let you go through this sacrifice by yourself.” He clasped his hands over hers. “We’re stronger together.” 

She stared at his grasp. It was tight and sure and it brought life to her again. She noticed him step willingly into the dark water and at once it began to shift colors. When she squeezed his hands back, the blood dripped off her body and the water around her ankles brightened. She couldn’t hold back the smile that spread across her cheeks.

They stared up at the chaos before them. The wails of pain and the stormy clouds were strong, but so were they.


	3. Runaway (AURORA)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **MANGA SPOILERS—it would be impossible for Armin to not mention Annie’s recent activity. This was also super fun to make; I’m glad I made this one-shot thing. I hope you guys are enjoying it too! **

She was fast and silent, always have been, always will be. How he knew this, he wasn’t sure. He just knew that it was nearly impossible to ask her to slow down and stay.

Back in the training days (which seemed like the last safe place he dug his heels into), she kept to herself. She never went to someone; they always went to her, including himself. Some days he had to squeeze his way into the line of excited boys to see if they could outrun or outdo the “unstoppable Annie Leonhart”—of course, no one ever could. She showed no mercy and he appreciated the honesty. He knew he was physically small and weak and she told him this, but she still pumped her legs as if she were competing against the long-legged Berthold Hoover and threw punches as if she were taking down the monstrous-sized Reiner Braun.

Perhaps that’s where it started, back in the training days. That’s when he started thinking about her more than he thought about Eren or Mikasa or why he was there in the first place.

He remembered getting up before the sun because he knew Annie always went for a walk around camp by herself.

“Mind if I tag along?” he’d ask, shrugging into that itchy, tight jacket.

The first few times, she said nothing. A few mornings later, she’d shrug. It wasn’t until a few days before Wall Rose broke down that she actually responded, “I guess not.”

Always silent was she. Like a liar, like a spy.

He remembered trying to catch a seat next to her at dinner. He had to be fast in order to do this—Eren or Mikasa could find him and spoil his chance. Mina Carolina or Marco Bodt could get to her first and take away his opportunity. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. She was fast and it was hard for him to catch up.

“Is this seat taken?” he’d ask, practically falling into it before she had the chance to get up and take her empty tray away.

At first, she didn’t answer. A few more nights later, she’d shake her head. She only started saying “It’s all yours” the dinner before they had to choose which regiment they wanted to go in.

She was so fast. She was a runaway; she had something to hide.

He was pleased to hear her voice after so many tries of getting to hear it. He was getting close to her and, just when he thought she might actually slow down and stay for awhile, she sped back up and left him in the dust, confused and betrayed.

Where are you going, little runaway? Why won’t you stay?

He watched her leave for the military police while he stayed with his fist over his heart. Was he making the right choice? Was she? Will they ever meet again?

They would, much sooner than he realized.

He had his suspicions that it was her before she even pulled back his hood. Eerie silence and rapid footfalls were uncommon in titans and that splash of blonde hair didn’t steer the thought away at all. But it can’t be, right? As far as we know, only Eren can transform into a being like that. And it wouldn’t be her, of all people, right?

As far as we know.

The waves of infidelity crashed onto him with the same damage and sorrow that the fall of Wall Maria caused. There she was, the runaway, hiding behind this skinless monster that was looking down at him with an expressionless frown. Would she be silent as she crushed him between his fingers like a grape? Would she run from him once the deed was done and leave his teammates wondering what happened to him? After all, back at the training days, she never showed him any mercy.

So, why was that moment so different? Why did she let him go, staring after her as his heart broke in two? Why did she let him live? That question in particular pounded against his bleeding skull as Reiner snatched him from the ground and spirited in the other direction. She must’ve known the consequences of doing such a reckless thing. She knew he was dedicated to the Survey Corps—she understood this and she still stole Marco’s gear. She still let him live. Why did Marco have to die and why did he have to live? Why, why, why?

If you keep on running, little runaway, you’ll fall off the world.

She left him no choice. At least, that’s what he kept on telling himself as he pulled her into that dark alleyway.

“Do I really look like such a good person to you?” She knew where this was heading, she wasn’t an idiot.

I don’t know what you are, he wanted to tell her, but I want to know. If you’d only slow down and stay. Please stop running away from me.

But that’d be too much, he knew. So, he’d settle on the vague “not everyone is a completely good or completely bad person” answer. She did deserve that part, for being so ambiguous in the first place, but she didn’t deserve the heartbreak that came when he said, “If you don’t do this, then you’d be a bad person in my eyes.”

The almost desperate look that overcame her twisted the knife in his guilt, but she left him no choice. Right?

Threatening her to stop running only made her run faster. Seeing her cry as Eren tore apart her titan like a cat eating a struggling mouse made him regret everything. He didn’t know her walls were taller than theirs, hidden with more secrets, built around more bloodshed and submission to the unknown. Even though she casted herself in a rock of indestructible crystal, she was still running.

Where are you going, little runaway? You think nobody knows, but you don’t know how much I want to.

She never left his thoughts as time withered away for her but sped up for him. Seeing Reiner and Berthold’s betrayal didn’t hurt as much as hers did—he was expecting it this time, after all. It was also easier to trick Berthold into thinking that Annie was being tortured. Sure, it was mainly for him to let go of Eren, but there was a part of him that wanted to see Berthold squirm and cry beneath him. She didn’t deserve that little weakling who couldn’t make a decision for himself. 

The horrible realization that he didn’t die in the fire but was brought back to suffer the consequences. Will this help? he thought as titan serum flowed through his veins. Will I be able to reach her this way? He saw her face in the ocean and when he picked her up, she once again slipped through his fingers like the sand around them, reminding him of how close yet how far they were.

He made weekly visits to the girl in the crystal as did Hitch, another soul who thought Annie was still deserving. He filled her in on the world behind her own—what they found in Grisha Jaeger’s desk drawer, the discovery of Marley, the attack on said country. Years he did this, and nothing changed.

I know you want to go home. I know you’re running away from the world. I know you think nobody cares. But you didn’t tell me any of that. Berthold’s memories did, but I want to hear it from you.

Perhaps she didn’t want to hear about the things that didn’t matter, all this war, all this destruction. She was running from it, after all. She won’t slow for any of it. So, maybe she’ll stay if he told her what really mattered.

And that’s what he did. He began talking about the training days, about the things that no one else knew but them. He retold the stolen kisses they’d sneak in before going to their separate dorms, how they held each other’s hand under the table at dinner, how he told her his dreams under the night sky while running his hands through her hair. He remembered her kissing his neck and telling him to keep on looking for it because it was there, despite what everyone else said.

He’d close his eyes and smile into her lips. She really is a kind person.

He somehow felt like he went somewhere after that, even though the crystal didn’t crack.

If you won’t stay, then take me with you, little runaway.

He wished for that even more when Eren confronted him, their hands flat on the table along with Mikasa and Gabi’s. As Gabi stared in bewilderment and Mikasa cried softly to herself, his insides shook with fear as Eren stated with dead eyes that Annie was the enemy and, therefore, Armin was too. Because of those weekly visits, because of Berthold’s influence over him, because he hated the caged world he was born in, Eren told him that he was a coward, a willing slave, an enemy.

It was all bullshit, he knew, but never before had he understood Annie so perfectly well than that moment. He wanted to become a runaway as well, lock himself up and throw away the key. Run from Eren’s hellbent revenge, run from Mikasa’s suffocating red string of fate, run from the end of the world. He wanted to run toward Annie. Drown with her in isolation and forget the problems they were dragged into. Fall into her mysterious ways and let himself be seduced by her silent promise of some life far from this place—he’d follow even if it led him six feet underground.

Fall into my arms, little runaway. I’ll be your home. I’ll keep you safe and warm. Come running to me.

She didn’t have the choice to fall out of that perfect little crystal world. Once again, she was dragged into hell, choking on its senseless ways of war, something that was shoved down her throat since she was a child. He knew she would pick herself right back up and continue running, so he kept a lookout for her. He suspected Hitch would help her escape—she loved Annie too—but he didn’t suspect to plop down right next to her, seeing her munch away at four years worth of pie.

They stared at her and she at them. How would the little runaway react? Swing her fists at him? Jam her thumbs into his eyes? Pick up a fork and shove it into his thigh?

He tensed up when Connie burst out laughing, pointing a bony finger at her. Four years she hid from them and the first interaction she had with her comrades from those training days was Connie snorting at the crumbs stuck to her lips. Armin slapped Connie’s shoulder and hissed at him to shut up, and when he turned back to Annie, he saw her running away. But this time it was in embarrassment.

Embarrassment, meaning she cared what they thought of her. The image actually brought him relief—she still cared.

Come back, little runaway. You have a place to go to. You have a home, in more ways than one.

They had a common goal now. Armin had to go to Marley to save them all from Eren and Annie had to go to Marley to see her father. He was reminded of that alleyway, trying to convince her to fall into his trap, to which she willingly complied. Was this another trap? Would they reach Marley but only to find her father dead, along with the rest of the world? Her home, the one thing she stayed alive for, might be gone by the time they made it. If they made it.

He tried to tell her without saying anything that she had other options. He didn’t know who her father was—he didn’t even know if he was good for Annie—but he wanted her to know that he was here and he would never betray her again. She couldn’t stay and he finally understood that. So, he’d run with her. Run wherever she wanted to go. He’d grab her hand and let her guide him to that deathless death she was encased in for so long.

This world was cruel and the beauty was fading. The ocean wasn’t clear and blue like he imagined, but it was black with the blood of the thousands that fell for impossible causes. He stared at her, at those beautiful crystal eyes and held on tight to them.

Let me run with you because I can’t take it anymore. I’ll fall off the world with you, I’ll let you rip me apart. Our arms are strong enough to hold onto each other. And that’s all we need. Let me follow you, little runaway.

She looked back at him. He saw their secret memories dancing behind her eyes as if she just found hope.

“Okay,” she breathed.


	4. Bad Romance (Halestorm)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I know y’all are thinking “I already know this song and it’s by Lady Gaga and it’s weird that you chose that song for a fucking Aruani fanfic” but you need to listen to Halestorm’s cover, okay? Lady Gaga’s a blessing, I know, but Halestorm’s lead singer, Lzzy Hale, is what I imagined Annie’s voice would sound like when I first read the manga. Low, throaty, and dangerously sexy. So shut up, don’t judge me, and listen to the cover. Thank you! 
> 
> Also I live for Attack on Titan high school version, so you guys know where this is going. I was inspired to do this not only for the song, but a very dear friend of mine wrote a JeanMarco fanfic along similar circumstances and now I wanna copy her. Enjoy!**

“Armin, if I hear you whine about that damn chemistry exam one more time, I’m gonna punch you in the dick.” 

“Why are you always threatening to punch me in the dick?” 

“Because you’re a little bitch that won’t stop whining!” 

Eren went to throw his fist at Armin’s crotch, but Mikasa quickly swiped it away. She lightly pushed his arm away and glared. 

“Stop it, Eren.” Her voice was light and mothering. Armin knew that tone wouldn’t work on thick-skulled Eren—it was like watching a mother calmly tell her toddler to stop throwing a temper-tantrum at the grocery store while she merely turned to look at the prices of bread, the child screaming at the top of his lungs and whirling his arms around like a water sprinkler. 

She then faced Armin. The corners of her black lips lifted a little as she murmured, “I’ll study with you tomorrow morning if you want.” 

“I will, too,” Marco jumped in. He threw his head back and adjusted his round glasses. “It’s only over gases and the kinetic molecular theory. Shouldn’t be too hard.” 

“Literally only you and Armin would think that’s not hard,” Connie muttered, glaring a little at Marco. “I don’t even know half the thingies on the periodic table.” 

“That’s because you’re dumb, Connie,” Sasha chirped like a bird. She was walking beside Armin with her hands behind her back and her long ponytail swished from side to side, occasionally brushing against Armin’s shoulder. “It’s in your nature not to know things.” 

Connie then aimed his glare back at Sasha. “Who fucking told you to speak?” 

“Now, I’m annoying, remember? That means it’s within my nature to talk all the time.” 

He shrugged and then stuffed his hands in his hoodie pocket. “True. Ya got me there.” 

“It’s Professor Hanji, though,” Armin said, going back to the previous topic. “She’s bound to put some random questions on the test like atomic structure or chemical bonding and not even know she went off topic. She’s unpredictable like that.” 

He chewed on his fingernails anxiously and peeked at his phone. 10:12 PM. It was already so dark out and he pressed his arms into his sides whenever the chilly October air blew too hard. The band was supposed to start playing at 10:30 but who knew if they actually stuck to a schedule or not? He didn’t know when it would all end and, being in a bar, there was bound to be reckless drunks and sketchy folks who stood way too close to you and purred inappropriate desires into your ear. This definitely wasn’t his scene and the nervousness built up in his chest the closer they got. 

When he lumbered into the garage earlier that day and told his mother that Marco had invited the gang to a bar to see his boyfriend, Jean, play in a band he was in, his mother only asked two questions: is Eren and Mikasa going and where exactly was this bar at? Once he answered “Yes” and “Over on Marely Street; I think it’s called Warriors”, she smiled at him. 

“Okay, have fun, sweetie!” she called as she ran her giant saw again, sparks leaping, metal teeth screeching. 

He frowned at her and told her he had an exam tomorrow morning at 8 AM sharp. She responded in her usual breathy tone that she knew he was smart enough to avoid obvious no-no’s and that his only responsibility was to bring Eren back home safe and sound or else she’d hear it from Carla (she added this part in a tiny pout as if the only conversations the two mothers had was over Eren’s uncontrollable idiocy). 

“You’re always either stuffed up in your room or at the library,” she declared, smiling again, “studying for something through a book or newspaper article. A lot of true knowledge comes from experience, you know—sorry to burst your bubble, but you can’t learn everything from the pages of a book. Go out, have fun, and grab some cute boy or girl’s phone number while you’re at it.” 

“Mom!” 

She ran the machine again when he started to complain. He saw her big clear blue eyes behind those giant goggles, and she pointed to her ears and shook her head. “I can’t hear you” she mouthed to him and he knew then that it was hopeless. 

So here he was, panicking on the inside as he followed the slowly gathering crowd of excited college students to a small bar further down the street. 

“Aw, wah.” Eren looked at him with a puppy dog look on his face, a hint of irritation in his eyes. “Do you need a wah-bulance?”

Armin rolled his eyes at the stupid comment he’d been making since they were twelve. “Marco,” he called ahead, “if you really don’t mind—” 

“No, yeah, of course!” The freckled boy raised his thumb in the air and smiled warmly. “Wanna meet by the arts and sciences hall at, let’s say, seven?” 

He nodded, grateful for the friendship of Marco Bodt. “That’s sounds great. Thank you.”

“Not a problem,” he answered as Sasha threw her arm around Armin’s shoulders. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from Eren,” she whispered before purposely stepping on the back of Eren’s shoe. He stumbled forward and knocked into Mikasa. Armin could only see the back of her silky black hair, tied into pigtails on either side of her head, but he knew she was blushing furiously at the slight touch of Eren. 

“Fuck off, Sasha.” 

“Ooh, fuck off, Sasha.”

“Look, there’s Ymir and Historia!” Marco blurted out before the two could start a fight. He waved his hand in big arcs and Armin could make out a tiny blonde by the doors of the bar wave back in the same manner. She was leaning against a tall girl who had her arms crossed and a little smirk across her face as if she had some sarcastic comments already tucked up her sleeves. 

The group waited for two cars to pass by before jogging across the street, slick from that day’s earlier rain. Voices grew louder and Armin could hear a guitar shredding itself apart from inside the bar. Whiffs of cigarette smoke and alcohol drifted up his nostrils and he scrunched them in disgust. 

“Hey, you guys!” Marco greeted. “What’s up?” 

“Nothing much,” Historia answered, inspecting her red fingernails. “Saw Berthold and Marlowe walk in a few minutes ago. They said they’ll grab some drinks for us.” 

“Don’t worry, Conman,” Ymir grinned, patting his head, “I made sure that they got you your apple juice.” 

He swatted her hand away with a frown. “That’s right, you better because your weekly stash of marijuana may dramatically decrease if I don’t get my fucking apple juice.”

“Man, what monster-sized cockroach crawled up your ass this morning?” 

“Always a pleasure, Ymir,” Sasha interrupted, hopping in front of Connie before he did something stupid. “Aren’t you the bartender here?”

Ymir groaned. “I’m on break now. If you got something to tell the manager, tell him it was Porco. I’m trying to get the motherfucker fired; guy’s always got a stick up his ass.” 

“Note taken, but I was wondering if you’d be my guide for drinks tonight. I’m looking for fruity and delicious.” 

Armin grimaced. Having Ymir recommend you drinks was practically asking for alcohol poisoning. He would have to watch both Eren and Sasha carefully tonight. 

She uncrossed her arms and slipped in another sly smirk, obviously pleased with this request. “Definitely a red wine kinda girl, aren’t you? I’ll see what I’ve got stored in the back.” 

“Ooh, the back!” Sasha smiled as she linked arms with Mikasa and Connie, bouncing after her. 

Historia blew her hair out of her eyes and gave the others a dramatic eye roll. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t kill her,” she muttered. 

“That’s very kind of you,” Marco thanked her and Armin nodded along. 

She then trailed after them and, one by one, they all entered Warriors.   
It was heavily packed with people, mainly college students looking for an excuse to get drunk and miss morning classes tomorrow. Many were crowded around the stage in the far end of the room with drinks or phones in their hands as they gazed at the equipment set up. Armin saw the words “Talking Titans” painted in big black letters on the bass drum with a little creature chewing on the T in titans. The lights were dim and aimed solely at the stage. Clearly Jean’s band was gaining some attention. 

The actual bar was tucked to the left. A man with the same slicked-back hairdo as Jean and a square jaw was rapidly filling out orders as if his very life depended on it. Ymir had stepped behind him and they exchanged some bitter words to one another before Ymir flipped him off and grabbed a wine bottle from one of the many shelves behind them. Sasha scurried around the wooden counter and watched Ymir pour her a glass of the stuff, Historia taking one of the stools beside her. 

Connie and Mikasa awkwardly stood to the side until the rest of the group came within view. Mikasa then strode back to Eren’s side like Velcro, her long plum purple skirt kicking at her knees. Connie eventually gave up and ordered whatever Sasha was having. Marco, Eren, Mikasa, and Armin lumbered over to Marlowe and Berthold who lingered around a small table not far from the bar with half a dozen drinks littered on it. 

They exchanged friendly hellos and Berthold gestured to the many glasses. “Sorry, I didn’t really know what you guys like,” Berthold apologized, “so I got a little bit of everything and you guys can decide which one you enjoy the most.”

“Everyone owes five bucks, though,” Marlowe said as he took a swig of his own drink. “Bill was like forty dollars.” 

“Gotcha,” Marco said as he slapped Lincoln’s face on the table and plucked a glass of orange liquid with a cherry sitting on top. “I’ve been here enough times to know that I’m a tequila guy.” 

“What is all this?” Armin asked, honestly shocked that Eren and Mikasa just randomly grabbed a drink without knowing what exactly they were about to digest. 

Berthold went around and pointed to each drink, labeling the type of alcohol and other juices it came with. Whiskey, vodka, rum, gin, brandy. Some actually looked like straight alcohol, clear as ice or golden brown like wheat. Others were colorful and adorned with some fruit in the middle. Eren grabbed a bottle of golden wheat while Mikasa took a dark purple slushie that Berthold said had vodka in it. 

Armin bit on his bottom lip as he settled on something that looked similar to Marco’s drink. He took a ginger sip and a waterfall of flavor crashed onto his taste-buds. Maple, orange, lemon and the faint sting of brandy. He pulled his lips back, set the glass back down, and offered Marlowe his share of the bill as Eren coughed wildly beside him. 

“Ah, fuck,” he mumbled and Berthold chuckled. 

“Yeah, rum’s not my choice of drink either.” 

“No, it’s fine. Just strong.” Eren looked at the bottle before handing it to Armin. “Here, try it.” 

He glared. “No.” 

Eren shrugged before taking another swig and coughing all over again. 

Mikasa looked at Eren with a worried look as she continued slurping her slushie, not any sort of reaction crossing her features at the vodka she was chugging down. 

“So, is ‘Talking Titans’ doing good?” Armin asked Marco, ignoring the hopeless cause that was his friends. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, growing warmer with the increasing number of bodies surrounding them. “It seems like they’re a big deal around here. Looking into any record deals?” 

Marco finished swallowing and nodded excitedly. “Yeah, they’re absolutely fantastic; it’s like they have a gig every other weekend. I’m trying to help them find record deals because this is Jean’s dream and I wanna help him out. So, if you perchance know any big music guys in fancy suits, let me know. It’s hard, but I know they’ll make it.” 

He then pointed at Berthold and Marlowe. “Berthold’s boyfriend, Reiner, is the drummer and there’s a girl named Hitch who plays the keyboard, guitar, and does vocal sometimes. She and Marlowe are…you guys are good friends, right?” 

Marlowe looked to the side and sipped his drink. “It’s complicated.”

Marco blushed but tried to wave away his own embarrassment with a laugh. “They-they know each other. There’s also a girl named Annie who also plays the keyboard and bass guitar and, don’t tell her I told you this, the violin. She doesn’t like people knowing that for some reason. She’s got an amazing set of vocal cords, though, but she doesn’t sing too often. It’s a shame—I honestly think Talking Titans would win that record label if she was at the mic more often.”

“Annie doesn’t like doing a lot of things,” Marlowe inputted. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she quit just because she was having a bad day.” 

Marco gasped. “Don’t say that! You might jinx it.” 

“Before all you alcohol virgins drown your first drinks,” came a familiar voice. They glanced over to see Historia with two little baskets in her hands, one filled with fries, the other with chips. She slid them onto the table and then plucked a cherry red drink near Berthold. 

“Eat something,” she finished. “Marlowe didn’t do that last time and puked everywhere.” 

“Don’t fucking puke on my shit, Marlowe!” Ymir shouted from across the room. 

Marlowe ignored her snarky remark and stuck his middle finger in the air, gulping down his dark drink. 

They chatted amongst themselves a bit longer, sipping at their drinks and nibbling at their snacks, and when the crowd randomly started screaming, they turned around to find four bodies strolling across the stage and grabbing the instruments. Armin peeked down at his phone. 10:48 PM. 

This was going to be a long night. 

He recognized Jean fiddling with a navy blue guitar, silver rings decorating his fingers and sporting a ripped denim jacket with little pins scattered around it. He let his fingers strike a chord and a wave of feminine voices squealed in anticipation. Jean glanced up and smirked at the response. His eyes scanned the crowd and, when they fell on Marco, he winked. Marco winked back theatrically, squeezing one eye shut and opening his mouth as if he were going to take a huge bite out of his cheese invested chip. Jean rolled his eyes. 

A brawny guy with short blond hair and a scruffy jaw shuffled his way back to the drums. That must be Reiner, Armin thought as he gawked at how huge the guy was. His muscles bulged through his white T-shirt and two thick black stripes encircled his left bicep, curving around the rocks under his skin. The drum set looked so tiny compared to him; Armin wondered if he was taller than Berthold. 

As he settled into his seat, a girl with short wavy hair and very little clothes on twiddled with the small keyboard on the right side of the stage. She moved slyly, glancing up at the crowd with a little smirk like a Cheshire cat. She then wiggled her fingers at them, the many bracelets on her wrists jangling like Christmas bells. A few men whistled and a deep shout sounded from somewhere in the back, “Yeah! What’s up, girl?” She giggled at the attention. 

He almost didn’t notice another girl standing in front of Reiner’s drum set, her back to the audience. Reiner was saying something to her as she tuned a black bass guitar in her hands. She was dressed similarly to Jean, meaning they both sported black skinny jeans with several rips and had earrings dangling from every available space on their ears. This girl had on a short red plaid skirt over her jeans, however, and had the sleeves of her white shirt rolled up to the elbows. Her sunny blonde hair was tied up in a bun and, even though Armin couldn’t see her entire face, her jaw and nose were sharp like a double-edged sword, reminding him of those statues of Athena he saw in Greece whilst on a study aboard trip. 

Armin flinched a little when Eren’s arm slid into his line of sight. He pointed at the bass drum behind Athena’s legs. “Where do you think they got the name from?” he asked Armin. “’Talking Titans’? Is that little thing supposed to be a titan?” 

He could already smell the rum rolling off his tongue like honey. 

Armin shrugged. “I guess.” 

“They literally pulled names out of a hat until they could all settle on something,” Marco answered for Eren. “Jean says he doesn’t like it but he painted the logo on Reiner’s drum set, so I think he’s just salty that his suggestion wasn’t taken.” 

Eren snorted. “What was his? ‘Horse Face and the Ponies’? Perhaps the more subtle ‘Kiss my Ass Cheeks’?” 

Marco pointed at him and laughed. “You’re actually not too far off from the second one.” 

“Kiss whose ass cheeks?” Sasha popped in. She had squeezed her way in between Armin and Marco with a cup of a very sweet-smelling concoction. Armin spotted Connie sneak in behind Historia and grab a fry from over her shoulder. 

“Jean’s,” Eren responded. 

“Ugh.” She scrunched her face in thought, but then shrugged. “Well, I mean, if I had to.”

“You’re fucking gross,” Connie muttered through his fry. 

“Look, Jean’s a close second to that Porco guy. Did you see the buns on him? Too bad there’s a stick up there, though. Ymir’s right—he’s kind of a Debby Downer.” 

“Jean’s a close second? What about—” Connie’s comment was drowned out by the sudden blast of a guitar from up front. 

They all whipped their heads back to the stage and saw Jean rocking away at his instrument, fingers inching up and down the neck, plucking at the strings. The girl with the bun had turned around and stood center stage, facing the gathering of anticipating fans (whoever hadn’t paid attention to them walking onto the stage now had their eyes locked on them). Her electric blue eyes were outlined in black eyeliner and her thick lips were colored in blood. She struck one chord the same time Reiner slammed down on a cymbal. Jean played on a little more and then the two blonds hit the same note. The girl then leaned into the microphone and hollered into it, “Want your bad romance!” 

Suddenly all of them became one with their instrument, jerking their heads up and down, their bodies moving to the short but fast-paced melody. The crowd screamed in delight at the grand opening they’d all been waiting for. Everything was loud, reverberating in Armin’s chest and scratching against his eardrums. The guitars, the shrieks, the clanking of glass. It wasn’t a bad kind of loud, but the kind that made your heart pick up to match the beat of the song. 

Armin hugged his sides and watched the Talking Titans lift up the spirits of nearly everyone in the bar. He could feel Sasha and Eren sway from side to side beside him and smell the alcohol floating through the air. Marco whooped and Connie let out a loud, “Aw, fuck yeah!” into the growing chaos. 

Athena hovered over the microphone, her long bangs falling into her face. She sang and the sound was low, threatening, yet strangely seducing. “I want your ugly, I want your disease. I want your everything as long as it’s free. I want your love…” She took a breath and continued, “Love, love, love, I want your love.” 

The girl at keyboard sang the last lyric at the same time as the war goddess and Armin choked out a laugh when he saw Jean shoot an annoyed glare her way. Apparently she wasn’t supposed to steal Athena’s spotlight. Armin glanced back at his friends and found them all immediately enchanted by the performance. Even Mikasa, who usually listened to organ music or something you’d expect in a horror movie during some seance scene, was rocking from side to side (her purple slushie was halfway gone at this point). 

Armin didn’t really know much about music, but he knew that the spell had been casted and it was worming its way into everyone’s brains, demanding them to lose themselves. 

He turned back and watched the girl at the keyboard try again to cry out another lyric while Jean huffed at his bandmate, but his talent never wavered nor missed a chord. He was keeping up and the grin on his face told him that his veins were on fire. 

He smiled at the passion Jean was throwing into the song, but his attention was diverted back to Athena and her magical voice. “I want your love and all your lover’s revenge,” she insisted. “You and me could write a bad romance.” 

She then unleashed a powerful scream into the microphone and the crowd went silent for a split second. Armin suddenly felt like Odysseus at sea, tied to a ship while this siren beckoned him forward. Her voice promised him dreams beyond his control and wishes that he didn’t even realized he had. It was too tempting to turn away. But this scream, this emotional outburst, made him recognize what exactly he was getting into. She was no Athena, no goddess that anyone would bow down to. She was a beautiful monster. She was here to drag him down and devour him whole, and he wouldn’t stop her. 

“Who is that?” Sasha yelled into the noise, snapping him back to reality. 

He was about to ask the same thing. 

Marco pointed at the siren with a wide grin on his thin lips. “That’s Annie. The one with the voice.” 

“Oh my gosh, I think I’m a lesbian now,” Sasha laughed, throwing her head back and swinging her ponytail around. 

He heard Historia laugh along with her. “Welcome to the dark side!” 

Armin looked back up with a smile tugging at his lips. He watched Annie, spirit of songs and lunacy, continue slam at her bass guitar while moving her body to the music inside her soul. He listened to her beg for love, a love that was wrong in every kind of way. He saw the crazed look in her eyes as she grinned down into the crowd of reaching hands. They wanted it too; they begged for the toxic rhythm to never cease. Such a creature was she, this magnificent titan with the ability to call forth all the monsters within them and cause a little anarchy. 

He, of course, was no exception as he sensed his own monster slither up inside him as he turned to the table and took a giant gulp of that orange brandy.   
The song was over way too soon and the applause that came after lasted much longer. Annie’s intense stare relaxed back into a monotone frown as she switched places with the girl at the keyboard (Hitch, if Armin was remembering correctly) who pushed the instrument back a little. Reiner, from behind his drum set, raised his wooden wands high in the air. 

“Alright, give it up for our little Annie,” he hollered out and directed one of his wands her way. 

The crowd, her victims, screamed with excitement and pleasure. Annie’s face hardly shifted, however—she merely glanced up before inspecting her black fingernails. Was she even aware of what she’s done, of what she was capable of? Marco was right—a record deal wasn’t far behind if she kept doing what she did best. 

“That was ‘Bad Romance,’” Reiner went on. “It’s one of our favorites and we’re glad to see you guys enjoyed it as well. Now Hitch is gonna lead us in one of our other favorites.” 

“It’s called ‘Dance in the Dark,’” she clarified with a wink to no one in particular. 

And it started all over again. Jean, Reiner, and Annie jammed on their guitars and smashed on the drums while Hitch told everyone in a sultry voice to forget their fears and let go. Phones lit up in the mass gathering of kids, trying to capture the magic of it all. Eren, Marco, Historia, Sasha, and the rest of them joined in the dancing, drinking, and drowning of insanity. Ymir managed to slip away from her position at the bar and brought with her replacements for their empty glasses. Historia instantly lunged at her and, soon enough, the two of them were swallowed up in the crowd, not to be seen for the rest of the night. 

Marco’s freckled face was always smiling and as red as his drink. Connie and Sasha shoved chip after chip down their throats. Berthold laughed at nothing and at everything. Marlowe swayed from side to side before covering his mouth and running someplace else. Eren snapped pictures and sung along in a slurry voice. Mikasa hopped in place and swung her pigtails around, smiling and laughing and leaning on Eren whenever she had the chance. 

Armin tried some of Eren’s rum and he Armin’s brandy. He danced with Mikasa, twirling her around and laughing when she didn’t know how to stop. He hid behind Berthold when Sasha and Connie began throwing fries at him. He sang a little with Marco and they both laughed their heads off at how ridiculous they sounded. He knew he was drunk and he knew he better stop now because someone had to take Eren home, but he just couldn’t. He didn’t want the feeling to end, much less this night. 

Eventually an intermission was declared, and the Talking Titans walked backstage. Jean and Reiner showed up at their table with giant grins on their faces and bottles already in their hands. Marco and Berthold kissed their superstars a job well done. They chatted, Armin knew, but he didn’t remember what exactly. He was aware of how close everyone was and the sticky heat of sweaty bodies and the mixed drinks he had was starting to get to him (and not in a particularly good way). 

He announced that he was going to step out for a moment and catch his breath. Even in her drunkenness, Mikasa wobbly reached out and stroked his arm, asking if he wanted her to come. She really was the mom friend of the group. He shook his head and smiled back (at least he thought he did) and said he’d be right back. 

The cold October breeze slapped him in the face and it felt really nice. Some other party-goers had stumbled outside as well, continuing their drunk singing or shoving each other’s tongue down their throat. It was still a little too crowded for Armin’s liking, so he tottered further down the sidewalk until all the shouting and laughing faded in the distance and the sound of cars zooming by replaced them. 

He fished out his phone from his back pocket and squinted at the bright light. 12:02 AM. He let out a little whine as he slid down the brick building behind him. That chemistry exam was in less than seven hours and he had to meet up with Marco at the arts and sciences hall in six. Was there still time to study beforehand? Well, obviously he wouldn’t be able to concentrate when his head was like a hot air balloon. Was there some secret way to quickly get rid of the growing headache pounding at the space between his eyes, or would he have to suffer through a hangover like everyone else?

He groaned into his hands and stared at the concrete underneath him. Was coming here a mistake? Maybe he should’ve just ignored his mother’s philosophical parenting and stayed at home where he would’ve gotten a full eight hours of sleep and avoided this stupid headache altogether. 

“You alright?” 

The unexpected voice made him jump and a little squeak escaped him. His eyes flew to the shadow looming over him. There she was. The siren that did this to him and what he let happen. She looked even more glorious up close—her hair was plastered to her sweaty face despite the chilly atmosphere. The black rims around her eyes had melted a little, tiny black streaks curving down to her strong cheekbones. She now had on a black cardigan and she had a cigarette pinched between her pointer and middle finger, a little trail of smoke quickly evaporating into the dark night. 

“Uh, no, yeah, I’m fine,” he stumbled, feeling embarrassed for the first time that night. “Just getting away from the crowd for a bit.” 

She nodded like she understood. She lingered there for a bit before stuffing a hand down her cardigan and pulling out a box of cigarettes and offering it to him. 

No, no more new things tonight, Armin, his mind told himself. 

He smiled sadly. “Um, no, thank you.” 

He prayed to God that he didn’t offend her in anyway, but she simply stuffed the box back in her pocket and did the marvelous thing of sitting down next to him. 

His eyes gazed at her through his bangs and he couldn’t get enough of the sight. She peered out into the street in front of them, blinking slowly as she took a drag of her cigarette. The smell usually bothered Armin, but it somehow suited her. Amazing how she wasn’t doing anything right now, and she had him bewitched. How many tricks did she have up sleeve? He needed to know. 

“Um, you were amazing back there.” His voice sounded so small, so he cleared his throat and jutted a thumb behind them. “You have an incredible voice.” 

“Thanks.” She didn’t even look at him, and he wanted her to. Sing him into another oblivion, play him like her secret violin, smash his heart with a single look only to pick up the pieces again by looking away. Do whatever to make certain this feeling stayed. 

“Annie, is it? I’m Armin—” 

“I know who you are.” 

He widened his eyes as a different kind of anxiety gripped his chest. “Y-You do?” 

“We are in the same English class.” She then aimed her gaze at him and a shudder ripped through his spine. “Ethnics in literature with Professor Ral?” 

He blinked and tried envisioning that classroom through his drunk mind. He knew the tiny strawberry haired professor who liked to pace around the room as she talked and his spot near the door. He searched through the faces of his classmates until they rested on a hunched figure near the back, blond hair in her face, dressed solely in black. 

“You answer almost every question the professor asks,” Annie added, taking another gulp of her tobacco stick. “You always give long and complicated answers too.” 

“I’m so sorry for not recognizing you.” He gnawed at his fingernails, the red-hot knot of embarrassment tightening in his stomach. “And sorry for being complicated in class.” 

She snickered at his withered self, which somewhat lifted him up a little. He made her laugh, even if it was at him. 

“It’s an English class—you’re supposed to give complicated answers.” She tugged on her cardigan as a gust swept by. “You’re really smart, is what I’m trying to say.” 

“T-Thank you.” 

They sat in awkward silence for a while (it was awkward to Armin—Annie probably didn’t notice) and he really wanted to break it before his head exploded in a fiery burst of pitifulness and fear. Here was his chance of properly thanking the lovely witch that gave him a night to remember and he was blowing it. All he could think about was her voice and her hair and her clothes and her way of moving him. Just what exactly was she? A siren? A witch? An old spirit that was conjured up to attract and lure youths to some pleasant daze before eating them alive? 

He didn’t realize the words came out of his mouth until she looked back at him: “God, you’re gorgeous.” 

His face caught on fire and he felt his heart stop. He thought about taking the words back, but that would honestly be worse. He really believed she was gorgeous, inhumanely beautiful, just like the sharp-chin Athena. There was a possibility she’d slap him across the face or completely disregard his opinion, but that didn’t matter. He said it, the damage was done, and he thought she should know it. 

She didn’t look angry, however, and he was a little grateful for that. Instead, she appeared sad. Her smoke-rimmed eyes drifted back to the street as she puffed at her cigarette again. She then looked at her beaten-up combat boots. 

“No, I’m not,” she whispered. 

His heart sped back up again but not before stinging in bewilderment. What? How could she think such a thing? Did she not see the way everyone looked at her in that bar? Armin was pretty sure even her bandmates snuck glances at her blood red lips and snow-white collarbone. 

He shifted himself around, so that his body was completely facing her. His fingers lightly touched her forearm, even though he didn’t mean to. “Yes, you are. Why would you think that? I think you’re really, really pretty.” 

Her eyes aimed at his hand and he shyly pulled it back. “I mean it, though,” he added, more quietly this time. “And I just wanted you know, I guess.” 

“I can smell the brandy on your breath,” she replied a little coldly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

He leaned the side of his head against the brick building behind them and chuckled. “I thought the same thing before I started drinking. And besides, don’t people usually tell the truth or what’s on their minds when they’re drunk? At least that’s what I heard.” 

She didn’t say anything. She smashed her cigarette butt into the pavement beside her and then pushed her hair out of her eyes. The sadness in those eyes was painful to witness. What made her think like that? The strong need to pull out the sorrow inside her made his fingers twitch and his body shake. He thought of the song she sung almost two hours ago and wondered if it really was a call for help, a call for someone to comfort her, even if the romance was cheap or not right. 

Could he be right, though?

“I’d like to come back here again,” he slurred into the wall. “I kinda came here for Jean, though, but you kinda captured my attention pretty quickly.” His thoughts lingered on him for a moment—maybe I should go back—but then he disappeared into the mushy memories in his brain. He was probably off somewhere making out with Marco, so he was sure he didn’t care what Armin was doing right now. 

“I think it was your voice that stood out the most, though. Marco said you were an amazing singer and he wasn’t lying. It was like magic in there. I forgot about everything, who I was and what I was doing there. You…you are enchanting and magnetizing and magnificent. You’re like a witch and maybe this is wrong, but…I just…can’t…”

Help myself, his lips finished for him as he practically fell forward into her arms, completely missing her mouth and kissing her chin sloppily. 

He didn’t know if it was the collection of those thoughts, surging through his veins faster than adrenaline, or if it was purely the brandy bubbling in his brain that caused him to be so bold. But, like he said, he couldn’t help himself. 

Annie withdrew almost immediately and he lost his balance once she did so. He saw the concrete and Annie’s torn jeans growing closer, but before he could land face-first and bust his nose, he felt Annie’s cool, small hands cup around his cheeks and bring him back up and kiss him fully where he meant to kiss her. 

He could taste the cigarette smoke in her lungs and something metal in the middle of her tongue—a piercing of some sort. Despite October’s frigid air, he felt extremely warm, both from the amazingly passionate kisses Annie was giving him and the giant blush blooming across his entire face. This was his first time kissing anyone and he was drunk. If he was sober, he’d probably be mortified, but the multiple shots of poison he took and this lonely yet desperate girl told him it was okay. 

He tried to return the favor. He tangled his fingers in her soft hair and moved his mouth around, hoping he was doing some good. She was rough yet she wanted it to last. Fill me back up, her lips seemed to say. Feed me compliments and make me feel alive again. It was a sad wish, but he wanted to do whatever he could to please her. He owed her his soul after all. 

It probably lasted longer than he thought, but she drew away too soon. Their breaths were heavy with anguish; Armin opened his eyes. The eyeliner was smudged even more, and the lipstick was smeared across those dangerous lips of hers like fading red clouds. The bun had sagged at the back of her head, more long blonde strands shielding her face. She still looked so sad, dragging her black fingernail down his chin as if he were a toy she couldn’t have. 

“You won’t remember me in the morning,” she mumbled, “but thanks for the moment, anyway.” 

“How could I forget you?” he asked in a hoarse voice. 

She then stared at him for a long time, emotionless, silent. And then something happened in her eyes. He recognized the look from when she was on stage—she had peered down into the crowd with a flash of madness in her eyes and amusement tugging at her lips. Some might mistake it for insane passion for her work, but there was a hint of desperation there, a hunger that couldn’t be quenched. She wanted something—no, needed it like how an alcoholic needed a drink to forget they were ever born. 

Those crazy eyes darted over his shoulder and then down the street. Her hand then clutched his own and she pulled them up to their feet (the surprising amount of strength in her arm practically yanked Armin from his puddled form on the ground). “My apartment’s right around the corner,” she muttered as she started running, dragging him along with her. 

He struggled to keep up, but he never let go of her hand and she his. Despite how damp his palm was with sweat and how his fingers reeked of all sorts of alcohol, she never let him go. He was in for it now; there was no turning back from here. 

I probably won’t make it to class tomorrow, he thought stupidly. 

As he snickered at nothing in particular, Annie’s phone rang. Her fast legs slowed to a jog as she fished out her phone from her cardigan pocket. Armin caught Jean’s name pulse at the screen. Her finger dragged across the ANSWER option and loud screaming, laughing, and chatter boomed from the speaker. Then came Jean’s voice, pissed and frantic. 

“Annie, where the hell are you? We’re starting in two minutes. Who the fuck do you think you—” 

His ranting was cut off once Annie ended the call and dropped the phone back into her pocket. 

Armin covered his mouth to stifle the giggles bubbling in his throat. “Jean’s really mad at you,” he slurred again. “He probably won’t let it go.” 

“Do you want to go back?” 

She stopped running and was now looking at him. There wasn’t any biased tone in her voice or any indication that it was a rhetorical question. She suddenly seemed okay with turning around and going back to the bar, and he didn’t know how to feel about it. 

He wrapped his other hand around her wrist. “No,” he almost whimpered. 

She faced the street and began moving again. “Then fuck whatever Jean says.” 

With a crooked smile, he let her guide him deeper into the dark. This could end badly, but I still want it. I want the horror, the shock, the ruin.

He looked at her blonde hair flying behind her. I might regret meeting you later on, but for now, I’m all yours.


	5. Gentle Earthquakes (AURORA)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **When I first listened to this song, I had to hear it a few times before eventually asking myself, “Is she talking about sex?” It surprised me because I’ve never heard anyone express sex through a song, a poem, or a piece of literature in such a loving and beautiful way. So, yeah, you know where this is going. 
> 
> I was VERY nervous writing this, mainly because I think sex is weird and it makes me uncomfortable thinking, writing, or seeing it (don’t act like you watched a movie with a sex scene with your parents and it made you wanna kill yourself). But, nevertheless, I persisted because it’s good for improving my writing skills—I can write about things that I’d really rather not or have little to no experience in. So, my inspiration for the only sex scene I’ve ever written is purely based on what I believe AURORA is trying to convey in this song. 
> 
> Enjoy! I hope I did the smut readers/writers proud!**

Like a gentle earthquake, it intensified. It started with uncertain rumblings and ended with her gasping for breath. Except this earthquake wasn’t destructive or heavy with regrets—it was comforting, it was full of love she never knew could be felt in such a way. 

She sat back on her heels and looked down at him. 

The only source of light to guide her eyes was the occasional lightning flashing across the bay window on the other side of the room; she could see the droplets of rain zigzag in the dim lighting. Armin was bare, just like her, except for his small glasses sitting crookedly on his nose. He looked nervous (this was more than likely his first time) but she saw the spark of exhilaration in those big blue eyes of his that she adored so much. He didn’t know what to do with his hands—they were always moving. They clutched at the bedsheets beneath him, tugged on his ears, poked her knees, and rested on her thighs before settling on his collarbone, his bony fingers fiddling together. 

In a way, this was her first time too—it was with someone she cared about, someone she loved more than anything the world had to offer. Glances of faces zoomed across her memory of other men and women she had sex with, but she couldn’t recall most of their names or certain features of who they were. She wanted love, that’s why she did it, but nothing ever came from it. She was an object, selling her body just to feel something. 

She looked at Armin staring up at her, anxious yet excited. Nothing had even happened and she already felt so wanted, so needed. He had entered her life and held her hand for a couple years now, and he didn’t have to say how much he loved her aloud for her to know it. This was the feeling she’d been searching for and it was everything she thought it would be, even better to be honest. 

The earthquake began rolling in her heart. 

Annie leaned down and carefully slid Armin’s glasses off. She then kissed each of his eyelids, slow and soft. She felt his warm breath push against her neck in a content sigh and his small fingers play with the strands of her loose hair. She withdrew and turned to the nightstand on the right. Before folding up the glasses, she plucked the open book on the nightstand, the one Armin dropped when she began smothering him with random kisses. She folded the edge of the page he was on, closed it, and then set his glasses atop the hardcover; she moved it all as if they were made of precious stones. 

Armin’s hands lightly traced her collarbone, shoulders, and neck as she moved his stuff around. Once she faced him again, the earthquake in her heart became stronger, vibrating her veins and making her blood bubble. He was looking at her like she was the ocean or some other dream he’d been searching for his entire life. 

She couldn’t contain her smile as he reached up with both hands and brought her back down. 

His fingers got lost in her hair and she in his. She felt his brows furrow as the kiss deepened. She smiled into his lips. That cute face he made whenever he was concentrating popped into her mind like a little firecracker. His thick brows would crinkle together, his eyes squinted a little, he would purse these thin pink lips of his, and his round button nose would scrunch at the slightest. She imagined that’s what he looked like now and she was half tempted to open her eyes. 

With her chest pressed against his, she could vaguely feel his own gentle earthquake beating wildly like the wings of a baby bird taking flight for the first time. She removed her hands from his tousled locks and ran them down the sides of his torso, feeling nearly every rib and his sharp hipbones. His body was so hollow, so little in her big rough hands. If she tried, she believed she could wrap her fingers around his rib cage and take out that lovely beating heart of his. But she already had it, she knew—he ripped it out and gave it to her a while ago. So, what was being kept in there now? A seashell? A pocket of butterflies? A bottle with a ship in it? It would be like Armin to keep something innocent in there. 

She felt his legs curve around her calves and a hand slide down her spine and then run back up. The earthquake inside her expanded rapidly and jumped to her spinal cord. It made her shiver, despite how warm her body was. He giggled against her lips and then kissed her cheek. 

“You’re cute,” he whispered into her skin. 

Her lips formed into a tight line as she pinched his chin and looked him dead in the eyes. A smirk twitched at the corner of his lips as she breathed into his face, “You’re unbelievable and childish.” 

He raised a hand lazily and dragged a finger down her nose and lips. It then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and he moved his knuckles along her jawline. “You’re flawless,” he replied so quietly that she had to block out the sound of the rain pounding against the window just to hear him. 

Some days, she ignored those conversations. Her nose was as big as her thighs, her breasts were pathetically small, her face was a literal square. Other days, she believed him and stood up a little straighter. Now she felt like that time they went to an art museum and came across a sculpture of Aphrodite. Her arms were gone and parts of her were cracked with age. Her facial features (or what was left of them) were sharp as the rock it was chipped from and her legs were smooth and plump. She was in a crouching position and the artist carved in a few stomach rolls, which was something Annie hadn’t seen too often in artful portrayals of women. 

Armin had walked up to the little plague on the wall next to the artwork. “It’s Aphrodite,” he clarified, “Greek goddess of love and beauty. She was the ideal beauty standard of women for a very long time in Europe.” He looked at Annie, then at Aphrodite, and then back at Annie. 

He grinned. “She looks just like you.” 

At the time, she frowned and punched him in the shoulder, but now, she knew what he was talking about and felt blood rush to her cheeks. She tried hiding her blush by kissing him again, her hair falling around them like a cloak. 

They quickly got tangled in the ugly and flawless beauty of themselves as thunder and rain continued to pour from the night sky. Sweat began beading along her hairline and rolled between her shoulder blades. She couldn’t breathe and she loved the feeling. The boy underneath her was small and cold and so skinny he could disappear into thin air, but, God, he was one of the most beautiful souls she ever came across. 

She slowly dragged one hand down his chest and stomach, feeling his gut lurching as she did so. She then enveloped her fingers around his manhood and started to gently squeeze and pull. His gasp was stifled behind her lips and his body stiffened significantly for a moment before slowly relaxing in her grasp once again. 

She lightly tugged on his bottom lip as her hand clenched and unclenched. Armin’s breath came in desperate sighs and she felt his chest rise and fall underneath her. She littered kisses around his mouth and chin and then travelled up his jaw (it was then she realized that he was growing a little stubble and, knowing him, he’d want to get rid of it immediately). Once she reached his ear, he turned his head toward her and cupped the back of her head as his other hand clawed at her shoulder blades. Her hair was probably in huge knots right now, but the thought came and went like the thrashing lightning outside. 

She gnawed at the space between his earlobe and the soft curve of his jaw until she was sure she left a blotch of purple upon his peachy skin. She wiggled out of his embrace and let go of his member for the time being. She moved her focus onto his torso, starting at his collarbone, which she believed to be the most fascinating part of him. Her tongue outlined the narrow strip of bone as her fingernails scraped at his lower stomach, stirring up that little earthquake as much as she could. 

“Annie.” Her name dripped from his chewed-up lips like chocolate syrup and it stroked her ego, thrusting her heart against her rib cage. His palms hovered over her body, barely even touching her. She peeked up at him just as another flash of lightning illuminated the room. His eyes were closed, his lips were ajar, and his neck was arched toward the ceiling. She grinned and pecked at his jaw. Such a little boy, lost in the waves of pleasure and yearning. 

She pressed her lips on the space between his rib cage, the place where he once kept his heart to himself. She then rested the side of her head there and listened to his body fluids flow around as if he were a seashell and she was listening to the ocean’s cries. The earthquake inside him pulsed and squirmed under her weight. She smiled at the sound and then showered his chest and stomach with more kisses. 

Downward she slithered, marking her territory as she went. Her hand wrapped around his manhood once again and she began pumping. More strangled wheezes erupted from Armin and for a second, she questioned if she was hurting him—were her fingernails too sharp? Was she biting too hard? She even wondered if the piercing in the middle of her tongue felt bizarre to him in any way. 

Her grip loosened. “If you want me to stop, just—” 

“Please don’t.” His voice was husky as if he just ran a marathon in the middle of a dry desert. Without moving too much, he reached down and clutched her hand, the one that was curved around his hipbone. He intertwined their fingers together and she felt his stomach rise and fall with a deep breath. His thumb stroked the back of her hand and, even though the touch was small and something he’d done time and time again, it felt really nice, this sense of comfort and encouragement. 

She kissed his belly button and mumbled into his flesh, “Just let me know if you don’t like it, alright?” 

He didn’t reply, so she took that as her cue to resume. 

She indulged the earthquake bubbling within him, which made her own grumble and wiggle its way to the hidden flower tucked in the pit of her stomach. She swallowed him whole and he didn’t resist. He only held onto her hand, squeezing tightly whenever the tremor inside pushed and pulled like thick taffy. When it was over, she ran the tip of her tongue upward and leaned back, licking her lips. She exhaled heavily and went to dive back in when Armin snapped up into a sitting position, the bed underneath them creaking at the sudden shift in weight. 

Her eyes shot up at him and only caught another flash of lightning before she herself was devoured. His arms folded her into himself, pressing their bodies together, slick with sweat and pinkish hues. Like a Venus fly trap, their mouths were wide open and she shoved her tongue down his throat, her metal stud clanking against his back teeth. Her arms knotted behind his head and his fingers went from massaging tight circles into her abdomen to clawing at her spine. 

The earthquake, so gentle, started throbbing in her sides. 

She shifted around to straddle him again, but, in the midst of her unsteady balance, he grabbed her waist and tossed her into the space next to him. Annie bounced against the covers yet still scrambled around to get back up. But he was already there, having rolled on top of her with both of her wrists pinned on either side of her head. She stared up at him. In the darkness, she made out his flushed face, tangled locks, and ocean eyes churning in a hurricane. He breathed out a small grin; she felt his fingers once more wove into her own. 

She huffed into his face, watching a few strands jump into the air. “Don’t get cocky now, little man,” she muttered. 

He chuckled and brushed his nose against hers. “I’m just returning the favor, tiny ball of disgruntlement.” 

He went to place a tender kiss on her forehead, but instead coughed into the pillow she laid on when she whipped out a leg from underneath him and whacked him in the ribs, nearly knocking him off the bed. 

“Don’t call me that,” she grumbled in a very disgruntled voice. 

He laughed, but still held onto her. He brought their twisted hands to his chest and smiled into her jaw, shaking his head and making his blond hair fly. It tickled her neck and collarbone and she had to bite down on her lower lip to keep from bursting into a fit of giggles. 

“Fine, my lovey-dovey, sweet, caring, adorable, and not at all intimidating angel,” he sang under his breath. “Did it hurt when you fell from heaven, oh gentle one?” 

A snicker or two escaped from her as she pushed against his chest, lifting him high enough so that his hair wasn’t touching her anymore. “You’re an ass,” she chuckled. 

He giggled along with her and unlatched their grasp on one another. He sank down onto her and gave her that sweet, little kiss on her forehead that she so rudely kicked out of the way. Her eyelids fluttered shut and a sigh blew from between her lips. She felt the flower in her tummy, unbudded, slowly unravel one petal and, as if this little thing controlled her entire body, she dug out her other leg from beneath him and ran her foot down the back of his calf. 

He moved very slowly and was very gentle with her, which made her think over what she’d done. He probably had little purple dots on his neck and hips, faint red lines on his chest and thighs. That might as well be a bite mark somewhere. But even if he physically didn’t leave behind some mark of love on her body, she was already starting to feel the aftermath in her bones. 

The earthquake rumbled in her flower. 

Her fingers nestled in his messy hair, soft like the earth in spring, as he scavenged her body for more pleasurable spots. She felt his feathered kiss between her breasts and his thumbs carefully smooth over her nipples. A low hissing sound seeped from between her teeth as if she was breathing fire. She continued to play with his hair, tug on his ears, stroke at his stubbled jaw as he carefully molded her body with his mouth and hands. It was like she was the sculpture and he the artist: he moved with such precision and had an eye for the minute details that nobody else noticed. He was carving a goddess out of this old rock and it had to be perfect. 

She felt him smile into her hands and peck at her fingers. He then reached back up and cupped the sides of her breasts and dragged his fingernails down her ribs, curving into her spine before resting at her hips. This caused the earthquake to ripple through her spine like electricity and her back arched at the shock. Her hands smacked at her rapidly beating heart as some desperate noise escaped her. 

“My love,” Armin mumbled into her stomach, right above her slowly budding flower. “My sweet love.” 

My love. A cold tear slid down her hot temple at those words. She was his; she finally belonged somewhere. After all those countless days of searching for that sense of home and coming up empty-handed time and time again, she found a pair of arms that enfolded her like how a mother would her child—they carried unconditional love and carried her above the waves of turmoil as best they could. 

Her eyes closed and another tear slipped; it felt like walking into an air-conditioned place after walking for hours in the blistering heat. A small smile twitched subconsciously at the edge of her lips as her hands slowly reached behind her head and gripped the side of the bedframe. Armin had lowered some more; she knew where this was going. 

Her muscles tightened in her arms and her teeth gnawed at her bottom lip. Everything was so soothing and calm, but it created a great mess inside her. One by one, the petals opened up, aching for more. The gentle earthquake was not so gentle anymore (compared to Armin’s sensitive touch) and it fed the fire-breathing dragon within her lungs. It shook her foundation and, in the back of her eyes, a blinding light began to emerge. 

Armin then lingered by her legs for a while, running his hands up and down her thighs, kissing her knees and resting his chin on them as he looked down at her. He probably noticed the faint tear stains once lightning flashed across their room again. He crawled back up to her; she saw the mildly concerned look in his eyes as his fingers began combing through her hair. 

“Sorry,” she muttered. She swiped at her face—she could only imagine how gross she looked now. She sniffed and tried to snap out of it, but the urge to cry again came when Armin smiled sadly at her, obviously aware of why she had tear stains running down the sides of her face. He gently kissed each of her eyelids (just like she did with him) and then pressed his forehead against hers. 

“I love you, Annie,” he stated clearly. “So, so, so much.” 

And it happened again. Her lips pulled back and her shoulders stiffened as her body hacked up more tears. She was louder this time yet the sound was still quiet compared to the thunderstorm raging on outside. She sniffed and choked at all the air collecting in her lungs. Armin locked her in an embrace and just laid there, letting her cry and grab at him as if she were afraid he might turn into a mist and drift away from her. She wasn’t sure how long this went on, but thankfully she calmed back down, reduced to a few hiccups bubbling in her throat. 

His head laid beside hers on the pillow; he kissed lightly on her cheekbones while softly stroking the other side of her face. Still he waited with closed eyes until she was completely still. She sniffed once again and let out a long, shaky breath. She was glad that the momentary crying-fit hadn’t totally diminished the earthquake within her and the flower was still open—it needed to be quenched. 

She turned her head to Armin, her nose bumping against his. His eyes fluttered open as her hand dragged down his chest again, testing the waters. He didn’t stop her and she was satisfied to find him as rigid as a flag pole. 

A tiny choking sound escaped his throat when Annie pulled on him maybe a little too hard. “Help me,” she whispered against his lips and he straightened himself back up. With one hand, he lifted her tailbone and with the other, he brought her left thigh against his side. Her calf wrapped around his hip as she slowly guided him inside of her. 

The feeling was familiar yet entirely new. She inhaled sharply as she tried to get used to it, the intensity. She pulled him out and then back in, and a contented moan simmered across her lips. Her stomach started stirring again and she welcomed the sensation. 

Armin’s head was on her chest, breathing heavily, and when her arms wrapped around his torso, he moved up to her neck, going deeper. Another current of pleasure slithered up her spine and her legs crushed his hips, keeping him locked in there for a moment. He mumbled something into the crook of her neck, and she spotted him grip the bedsheets firmly in his hands. 

As he went in and out, in and out, colors began dancing in front of her eyes. It was blurry and incoherent and she felt a little light-headed, but it was still so beautiful. They raced across her vision in purple, pink, and orange shades like her personal display of fireworks. And, like a firework, her heart boomed along with each explosion of color. She watched them fall from the ceiling like grains of sand and held Armin a little tighter. 

When he let go, she felt as if she were struck with lightning. She sensed it reverberate through her body, locking her limbs in place and stopping her organs altogether. She gasped for air (even though it felt like she had plenty) and dug her nails into Armin’s flesh. Even when he was done, she kept him inside for a while longer. Her toes curled, her thighs tightened, her back arced. The electricity sparked and popped in her spine for a while before her body naturally relaxed into a puddle with him on top of her, the two of them finally one. 

The flower, now pleased, closed back up and receded back from whence it came. The earthquake had subsided and left behind a golden light shimmering around her. It radiated from her like the sun; it burned off her flesh and presented her in all her glory. 

She kissed the top of Armin’s head and held him through it all. My love, my sweet love.


	6. The Waiting Game (Kalandra)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I got some spy vibes listening to this song. I thought it describes their relationship perfectly and not in an entirely good way. A harsh reminder that they are still not on the same side in the manga and, even if they care about each other, they are still loyal to their cause and will do anything to get there. 
> 
> It hurt writing this, so that means it worked. Good luck**

“Your mission is simple: execute Annie Leonhart.” 

Many things ran through Armin’s head as the order left Erwin Smith’s lips and rang in his eardrums like a gong. He, for once, was at a loss for words, and Eren had to speak on his behalf. 

“That’s easier said than done,” he muttered. “She’s a master of disguise, has killed dozens, and she has to have a few black belts in martial arts.” 

His words weren’t graceful, but they were true. Kill Annie Leonhart? Damn near impossible. But, terrible as those points were, it wasn’t her undeniable strength or slick movements that got her in and out of places that sent Armin’s heart to the floor. It was the long list of memories he shared with her, way before they quietly went their separate paths. 

He peeked at the stack of papers in Erwin’s hands. Just how much did they know about her? 

“I understand your concern,” he continued in his deep, throaty voice. It was one that demanded respect from the mountains and shook the stars in the sky. Eren leaned forward in his chair as Erwin shuffled through his papers; Armin and Mikasa made no movements, though for very different reasons. 

“She’s managed to sneak into the capital, our own headquarters, and several other highly-secured places on more than one occasion.” Erwin read off her list of crimes like he was reading the items off a menu. “She’s stolen priceless artifacts and destroyed piles of records and information regarding the Warrior program and their allies and innerworkings. Not to mention the many kills she has under her belt—forty-two to be exact.” 

42\. Armin tried to focus on that number, bury it deep in his heart so his brain could think clearly through the waves of emotion pounding against his chest. She’s killed more people than Ted Bundy; she’s caused more damage than Bonnie and Clyde, for God’s sake. Annie is a murderer, a liar, and a thief. She’s the enemy, she doesn’t mean anything to him anymore. 

“A lot of them were innocent citizens, but she’s also killed some of our own hands. You three know that it takes years of hard work and training to become a decent member of the Survey Corps, so for someone outside of our ranks to repeatedly take down members is dangerously serious. Remember she single-handedly took down Mr. Ackerman’s previous squad before you joined.” 

“Why are you giving them more reasons to be afraid of her?” Levi spoke up from his spot in the corner of the room. He was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed like a disapproving parent. “I thought we were supposed to kill her, not run away from her.”

Hanji, who had been hovering over Erwin’s shoulder this entire time, reading from Annie’s record’s, waved her hand at Levi. “Shush, he’s getting there.” 

Levi rolled his eyes and went back to peeking through the closed blinds at the window. 

“I guess this is the part when you tell us what we have against her,” Eren added with a small, crooked grin. It was his attempt at adding hope to the conversation—his codename wasn’t “Last Hope” for nothing—but it didn’t settle down Armin’s rapidly beating heart at the slightest. 

Erwin looked up from his papers. “Yes. Not only should we be thanking Ms. Hanji for keeping a secret copy of Leonhart’s records as well as some of her comrades like Reiner Braun and Berthold Hoover”—Hanji slipped in a little smirk as the subtle praise her boss was giving her—"but you should also be thankful that we have you.” 

Armin was expecting Erwin’s finger to fall on Eren or Mikasa. Eren had by far been the most active of the squad and had accomplished several missions for the gradual progress of the Survey Corps. Mikasa’s strength and talent had matched Annie’s almost spot-on, and she too achieved several missions, some of which were solo. But Erwin ignored both of them and he ended up pointing straight at Armin, who was seated between the two. 

Everyone’s eyes fell on him. Erwin’s hard stare told Armin everything. 

He stiffened. Shit, he knows. 

“Leonhart’s past is awfully sketchy,” Erwin went on, referring back to his notes. “We know she was adopted by a man named Alfred Leonhart, but we don’t know what happened to her biological parents, nor do we know much on Mr. Leonhart himself. There’s no records of her enrolling in any private or public school, her place of residence kept moving around during her childhood, and we couldn’t find any extracurricular activities she was a part of in her youth like being in a soccer team or a book club. Her private life was shielded from the public’s view majority of the time.” 

“That most likely means her life was planned out for her by her father or someone of great authority,” Hanji added. “She might’ve been enrolled in the Warrior program ever since childhood, which leads us to think that they are using child soldiers to create the big baddies we know today.” She shook her head. “It’s horrible to think about, but at the same time, it’s genius. Children can’t think for themselves and go off what their parental figures tell them to do, so if they drill it into their brain long enough, they won’t disobey if they tell them to pick up a gun and shoot someone.”

Eren frowned and his leg began to bounce up and down. “That’s sick. They’re turning them into slaves for their own benefit. Fucking bastards.” 

“But Leonhart’s private life peeked out a little in her teenage years,” Erwin said. He glanced at Armin and looked back down. Armin could feel his ears burn   
and his hands tremble under the weight Erwin kept adding to. 

Please don’t make me do this. 

“At the age of fifteen, Leonhart met Armin Arlert and began an intimate relationship with him. We see small spurts of activity through the next four years of the relationship. Although it appears that public outings weren’t common between the two; given Leonhart’s shadowed past, we’re left to assume that she was the one who wanted to keep the romance to a minimum.” 

Armin rested his elbows on his knees and hid his face in his hands as Erwin continued to read all about their dead love. “It wasn’t until much later in the relationship when Leonhart was to be seen more often in public—we have everything from movie ticket transactions to dinner receipts to eye witnesses of Leonhart and Arlert together, some of which come from our own Survey Corps members. At age nineteen, at the end of the known relationship, we found out Mr. Leonhart had somehow gotten involved, probably unaware of the relationship until then. There was a noise complaint from the Leonhart residence one night—they reportedly heard loud shouting and glass breaking. When police arrived, Mr. Leonhart had answered the door and apologized for the noise and promised to keep it to a low. No other complaints were filed for the rest of the night and, once morning came, the Leonharts were gone again. We haven’t discovered their current place of residence yet.” 

“What does Armin have to do with the mission?” Mikasa finally spoke up. “What do you want him to do?” 

Eren and Mikasa didn’t look as uncomfortable as Armin felt, but they weren’t surprised either. They were well-aware of his past relationship with Annie (they’d all gone out together once or twice) and none of what Erwin said was new to them. But there were days, especially now, when Armin wished he hadn’t mentioned anything at all. 

Erwin put down his papers and folded his fingers over them, looking Armin straight in the eye. “When was the last time you directly spoke with Ms. Leonhart?” 

It took him a good while to respond, but he eventually replied with a shaky, quiet voice, “Over five years, sir.” 

He nodded like he already knew the answer (which he probably did). “Because of your past relations with Ms. Leonhart, we believe it’d be best if you were the one to approach her. She could possibly let her guard down with you around and, once she does so, use that as an opportunity to attack and execute her.” 

Erwin said this with a straight face, Levi still wasn’t entirely paying attention to the conversation, and Armin didn’t sense any triggered vibes from Mikasa. Hanji and Eren, however, were shifting around uneasily and peered at him with sympathetic eyes. Armin felt his insides pull apart and then push back together; he was falling apart at the seams and he was desperately trying to hold it together. 

He straightened back up with another shaky breath and rubbed his sweaty palms on his knees. He couldn’t do this. Erwin literally wanted him to look her dead in the eye and shove a knife into her heart. Use her own feelings to his own advantage? Even assuming she still had a sliver of love for him, it’d still be wrong morally. He might as well go on a murdering spree while he was at it. 

“What…What if I could turn her in?” Armin squeaked, at the verge of tears at this point. 

Erwin simply raised an eyebrow at him. 

Armin continued, his eyes darting, his hands flying: “W-What if I could somehow convince her to leave the Warrior program and enter the Survey Corps? Anni—Ms. Leonhart has been living this secret life since practically the day she was born, right? We didn’t know much about her until I met her, right? So, I might be able to persuade her into leaving and coming with us. The Survey Corps isn’t about killing others—it’s about saving them. Why would we want any blood on our hands, even if it was Warrior blood?” 

Armin saw Hanji bite on her lower lip and Eren look at Erwin with last hope. 

Erwin hesitated before he spoke. “You can certainly try, but don’t pursue it for long if it’s not working. The Warriors are stubborn and relentless—I wouldn’t be surprised if Ms. Leonhart won’t budge at the suggestion.” 

It was small, but it was enough for Armin to utter out, “Y-Yes, sir.” 

“How are we going about this exactly?” Levi droned out, sauntering over to Erwin’s desk. 

“Queen Historia is going to throw a ball next week to celebrate Paradise Island’s recent alliance with the Lebonian people. Some of the Warriors are Lebonian and we are expecting them to show up, including Leonhart, Braun, and Hoover, some of the most dangerous of the bunch. The goal is to execute all three sometime during the ball, but, of course, out of sight from the dozens of other civilian guests attending. Her Majesty is aware of the situation and has allowed us to take control of it. She had even informed me of other rooms and backways within the palace to get from place to place unnoticed which, of course, we will use to the best of our abilities. 

Squad Raven’s Call is to go undercover as civilians instead of soldiers. Many high-ranking Survey Corps members will go dressed in their uniforms but are told to not get involved unless instructed otherwise by me. Ms. Hanji and I will be in the ballroom majority of the night, speaking with the Lebonian people about our alliance, but we will have earpieces in, just in case anything goes wrong. Ms. Hanji has actually designed a special type of weapon for this occasion; we don’t want anyone, Warriors, civilians, or Lebonian, to know that we have weapons on us.” 

He then pulled out what looked like to be a small silver pen from his pocket and laid it on the table in front of them. It was short and skinny, and a tiny silver ball sat on the end of it. They peered at it for a moment before Levi stated, “That’s a fucking pen.” 

“You’re a fucking pen,” Hanji snapped back and plucked the object from the desk. 

She fiddled with the ball at the end, making sure Eren, Armin, and Mikasa could see it clearly. She pulled on it and the “pen” extended in great length. She then wiggled it around, showing off the extreme flexibility of the supposed weapon. 

“Believe it or not, this is a knife,” Hanji explained. “It was made to be unseen and easily accessible. This wiggly part”—here she pushed around the bendy stick attached to the ball—“is the accessible part, being able to extend one meter in length and as flexible as a rubber-band. The ball can easily be disguised as a broch or a hair accessory and, once you push down on it—” 

She demonstrated and out popped a razor-sharp knife on the other end with a metal slink. The blade was so thin that it could effortlessly blend in with the dark; it looked to cut through anything with ease, flesh included. 

“And if you wanna retract it…” She pulled back on the ball and the blade was swallowed back up in the reflective stick. “See? Easy to control and it can hide in plain sight. Each of you will be given at least one of these and the rest of the Survey Corps will be carrying one as well.” 

“You know what to do,” Erwin said. “Execute Leonhart, Braun, and Hoover as quietly and swiftly as you can. I’m depending on you.” 

Mikasa nodded and Eren said, “Yes, sir. We won’t let you down.” 

Armin said nothing as he stared at the knife in Hanji’s hands. Small, quick, and perilously sharp. It reminded him of Annie and, in order to take her down, he would have to be the same. 

He held his breath and wished he never said anything about Annie to anyone at all. 

\--- 

The day of the ball came and the fear that was running through Armin’s veins was unlike anything he ever felt before. It suffocated him as he straightened his black tie and stabbed his heart as he pinned the ballpoint knife near his collar. He pulled his hair back into a tight ponytail, looking at himself in the mirror. The whole point of this mission was to not look suspicious, and that’s exactly what he looked like. 

Bags had formed underneath his eyes from the lack of sleep he got, worrying over this very day. He was hunched over like he was going to be sick and his pale exterior wouldn’t fool anyone of the panic boiling in his stomach. His hands shook and he clasped them together in a failed attempt to ease them. Overall, he looked like he was on the verge of passing out. 

“Sasha, we are on a mission. Stop eating everything you see!” 

Armin focused on the bickering going on in the background between Jean and Sasha, hoping it would distract him, even for a moment. 

“Shh!” Sasha hushed through a mouthful of something. “We’re on a mission; we have to use our codenames now.” 

“Ugh, fine, Potato Girl. Stop—”

“It’s Mother Wolf, excuse you, Horse Face.” 

“Um, the Horse Face part is silent. It’s actually pronounced Inferno. Now stop—”

“You realize they only named you Inferno because you’re a hothead, right?” Connie (dubbed Young Bullet) piped up. 

Armin could only imagine the disgruntled face Jean was giving them both and normally, he would smirk at the image. But it hardly tamed the heart-crushing dread weighing him down. 

“Are you okay?” Mikasa’s quiet voice mumbled in his ear as she lightly touched his shoulder. 

Armin’s rubbed his eyes and grinned up at her. “I’m fine.” 

She looked stunning in her long, sparkly deep blue gown, the sleeves limp at her shoulders and the short train dragging after her black heels (she towered over Armin in those things, but then again he always had to look up at her). Her silky black hair was held together by two of Hanji’s makeshift knives and she wore a pearl necklace that she secretly admired.

She stared at him, expressionless. “I’m sorry.” 

“Yeah, me too…” Armin didn’t have the energy to fake it to his friends. He would have to save it for Annie; he had to make her think she was safe. 

“She was always strange,” she said, her hand slipping from his shoulder. “So secretive, ambiguous. I suppose it wasn’t too surprising when we found out she was a spy for the Warriors.” 

Armin still couldn’t believe it, but it did make sense, in its own strange way. A couple days after Annie and her father mysteriously fled town, he heard the rumors of the violent noises radiating from the household and their car speeding off into the distance around four in the morning. Naturally he panicked and tried calling and texting her cell, emailing her—he tried every way of contacting her, but she never responded. This was also a week or so before he was to begin his training at the Survey Corps, more specifically their secret intelligence unit. Eren and Mikasa were to start the same time as him and when he informed them of Annie’s sudden disappearance, they began wondering for the worse—what if she was kidnapped? Was her father into some shady business and had dragged Annie into it? Had she been murdered? Going into a secret intelligence program, they decided to bring up the subject, hoping they could help. 

When he gave Erwin Smith, head of intelligence (codename Commander), and his second-in-command, Hanji Zoë (codename Doctor Jekyll), a physical description of Annie, where she had lived, and her father’s name, they looked at him with shell-shocked eyes. He sometimes saw them in the back of his mind at night and it would send a shiver down his spine. They told him that she was a spy for the Warriors, another secret intelligence program who were known for being destructive, chaotic, and killed anyone who got in their way. 

They had dubbed her as the Ice Queen for the cold way she regarded human life, simply slitting their throats with a dead stare before melting away. She was active while they’d been dating and she still was wreaking havoc in their own headquarters. 

He heard of her activity for the last five years, but tonight would be the first night he’d see her since that night. 

“Why can’t we just compromise?” he muttered more so to himself than to Mikasa (codename A Hundred Men). “Mustn’t we always try to talk things before resorting to violence? Shedding more blood is just adding more fuel to the flames between the Survey Corps and the Warriors.” 

“She’s a serial killer, Armin.” 

Mikasa and Armin glanced at the approaching Eren. He wore all black from his shiny dress shoes to his wrinkleless shirt. The silver ball of his knife was tucked in the middle of his tie. 

“Remember what Commander said?” he reminded them. “She’s responsible for forty-two murders, including Raven’s Call’s previous squad. And that’s not to mention the other shit she’s pulled—”

“I never said she was innocent,” Armin snapped back in the same heated glare Eren gave him. “Of course the things she did is horrible, unforgivable even, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t deserve a second chance—” 

“You’re still in love with her. Your opinion of her are invalid.” 

“Eren, please.” Mikasa glared down at him. “Let’s just focus on our half of the mission. Taking down Reiner Braun is going to be a challenge.” 

Armin rolled his eyes and looked back at his exhausted face in the mirror. There were a million things he could say to Eren about his rage or pride but taking down Eren with words was both too easy and a waste of time. 

He’d have to save it all for the Ice Queen. 

“Alright, there’s enough of a crowd for you colts to mingle in,” came Levi’s (the one and only Raven’s Call) low voice in everyone’s earpiece. “Remember your positions, keep an eye out for the targets, and don’t fuck this up.” 

Eren pressed a finger to his ear. “Yes, sir. We’re on our way.” He turned toward the door and Armin saw Mikasa look back at him. 

“We’ve got your back, Mind Grenade.” 

Sasha’s puffy orange dress shifted as she hopped up from her spot on a stiff-looking loveseat. “Whew! I’m kinda nervous; you guys nervous?” 

You have no idea, Armin responded internally. 

“Well, don’t let them know that, for fuck’s safe,” Connie snorted through his own anxiousness as Eren opened the door. “That’s like saying you’re nervous before trying to assassinate Hitler.” 

“Who wouldn’t be nervous trying to assassinate Hitler?” 

“You can’t let him know that, though! He fucking ate that shit for breakfast.” 

They filed out of the small parlor room one by one, Mikasa and Sasha’s heels clicking noisily. They travelled down a small hallway, turned left when it dead-ended, and then followed another hallway, this one more brightly lit and wider in both height and width. The sound of chatter and clinking glasses grew in volume as they approached the grand threshold that was to lead into the ballroom. 

Armin swallowed, painfully aware of the knife tucked into his suit. 

“Raven’s Call, make sure to keep your eyes on the Queen,” Erwin’s voice rang in their ears. “We’re not one hundred percent positive what the Warriors may be doing here in the first place. Taking the Queen may be one of those reasons.” 

“You want me to stand here and drink crap champagne while chatting it up with the snobbiest pieces of shit in the capital instead of taking down the Warriors?” came Levi’s clearly annoyed tone. 

“Your squad can handle this. I just need you for backup.” 

“We also need you to step up your communication skills,” Hanji added in. “You, me, and Commander represent the Survey Corps, so blink every once in a while and nod your head to show that you’re listening even if you’re not, you corpse.” 

“I’ll make sure to breathe through my mouth every two minutes as long as I don’t hear you lose your shit across the room at talking about atoms or radiation poisoning.” 

“Please be quiet, both of you,” sighed Erwin. 

Sasha suppressed a giggle as they rounded the corner and scanned the grand ballroom. A giant chandelier hung from the ceiling, sparking with diamonds and illuminating the room with a soft radiance. Shades of gold and ivory decorated the walls and floors; through the arched windows on the far side of the room showed the night sky, a sharp contrast to this heavenly glow. No pictures or antiques could be seen—Queen Historia wasn’t one to impress people with wealth or a certain fashion sense. 

People conversed quietly with one another, making the atmosphere a little tense or awkward (Paradise Island and the Lebonian people were allies, but definitely not friends). No one appeared angry or fearful in their conversations, however, but instead interested and quite serious—they were all here on business, after all. Servers in black suits and white gloves flitted across the room while carrying silver trays of alcohol and tiny snacks. Everyone was dressed in their finest from the top of their slicked-back heads to the bottom of their high-heeled feet. A violinist and a celloist sat in the back corner, playing an airy tune with no particular ending in mind. 

Queen Historia could be seen in her big white gown and twinkling crown on the left. She was speaking to a man with long blond hair and the two were thoroughly engaged in their conversation. She was nodding her head and smiled every now and then, but when her eyes caught the Raven’s Call’s pack entering, they strayed on them for a moment before turning back to the blond man, now with a new level of awareness. 

Hanji and Erwin were seen in the middle of the room, directly underneath the bright chandelier. They were also involved in their own conversations with important-looking men and women in suits and Armin knew they purposely avoided making eye-contact with Levi’s squad. Even the smallest gesture could trigger something; they all had to be extremely careful. 

Armin looked around for Levi and eventually found him leaning against the wall near the windows by himself while periodically sipping from his wine glass. He was obviously trying to keep an eye on Historia, Erwin, and Hanji, and prevent any sort of contact with anybody else. He peered into the crowd with his dark eyes, heavy with the extreme lack of sleep and sunlight. Armin was a little envious of how he always appeared calm or indifferent to nearly any position he was put in. He had seen him panic a couple of times when things didn’t go according to plan, but, for the most part, he was unmoved and sneered at any fool who might try to sneak up on him. 

Armin’s eyes scanned the room some more. No sign of the enemy yet. 

“Remember your positions,” he heard Mikasa whisper to the group.

He didn’t look behind him as he steered to the right wall. Eren and Mikasa walked by him, she holding his elbow with one hand while carrying the end of her dress with the other. Sasha and Connie slowly trailed after them before breaking off in the other direction. Jean had slithered his way to the left (where Historia stood with her guest) but not before plucking a half-filled glass from a server’s tray and taking a giant swig. 

“Any sign of the Warriors?” ringed Eren’s voice in Armin’s ear. 

“No, shut up,” Levi answered back. “I’ll let you know when I see them.” 

Armin sniffed and tried wandering his way into discussions with other people, looking as normal as possible. He figured it might be good practice for when he had to speak with Annie—he had to conjure up a lie that made sense as to why he was here and that he knew absolutely nothing about the Warriors or any secret intelligence service. He would smile as charmingly as he could as he shook people’s hands and asked them about the diplomatic relations with other countries or other political topics that were being tossed around in the air tonight. He listened, but his mission never left his mind. How could it? He was honestly surprised that no one caught his trembling hands or told him he looked unwell. That meant it was working—he was a good liar. 

He was speaking with a Yelena and Onyankopon when he heard Levi in his ear: “Ice Queen and Goliath at one o’clock.” 

Armin remembered Levi’s spot near the window and subtly glanced near what would be one o’clock to him. And then, for a moment, everything in his body froze. 

Next to a muscular man with a scruffy jaw was the infamous Ice Queen. She wore a long red dress with a low neckline and a slit at the side that went up just below her knees. She had red heels to match and a thin silky shawl was tucked around her elbows. Her lemon hair was pulled back into a bun on the top of her head, her long bangs falling in front of her eyes. Although he couldn’t see her face from this distance, Armin noticed her blood red lips and smoky eyelids. Shiny earrings adorned her ears and a metal bracelet encircled her forearm. The bright walls and glowing candle-lights made her appear paler than usual, but she was just as beautiful as the first day he met her in sweatpants and a hoodie. 

“Uh, Mr. Arlert? Are you alright?” 

Armin snapped back to Onyankopon and Yelena who were both giving him mildly concerned looks. 

He smiled crookedly and tensed up his shoulders to make himself look embarrassed. “Oh, yes! I’m sorry. I just spotted a childhood friend of mine from   
across the room is all.” 

“Ah.” Onyankopon looked into the crowd, saw Annie, and looked back at Armin, grinning. “Well, let us not hold you back then.” 

“Oh, no, I’m fine. I’ll just—”

“We insist. It was nice talking to you, Mr. Arlert. You’re a very bright young man. I hope to meet up with you again someday.” 

Armin smiled back. “Thank you. I hope so too.” 

As he parted from the two, he pretended to tug on his earlobe. He whispered to the other ravens, “I’m heading in.” 

“Go for it, Mind Grenade,” Hanji replied. “Work your magic.” 

His heart sped up with each daunting step he took and he feared she would be able to hear it from across the room. He swallowed his dry throat and wished he would’ve drunk something before he did this. He squeezed pass the bodies in his way as quietly as he could—she still hadn’t seen him and he wanted it to stay that way (although there was a good chance she already knew he was there and was either avoiding him or waiting for him). 

He was about three feet away from her when he spoke her name a little desperately. 

She didn’t respond immediately but kept her gaze on something in the distance. And then, very slowly, her clear blue eyes inched toward him like a broken doll. Her head lifted up to look at him and something flashed across her eyes, but it was gone in an instant. She didn’t look too much different from when she was nineteen—her cheeks were a little sharper and her hair a little longer, but he did spot the faint outline of a scar slashed across her right eyebrow, about the size of a quarter. 

She didn’t have that on the last night he saw her. 

“Armin,” she breathed. His name was spoken like she was walking on eggshells. It was incredibly fragile and soft, and it barely escaped from her thick lips. She sounded like a child when it found out it was in deep trouble. 

He let a smile pull at his lips. “H-Hey. How are you?” 

She slowly nodded. “Fine. Yourself?” 

He nodded back. “Uh, okay, I suppose.” He slipped in an awkward moment before chuckling nervously. “God, it’s been so long. Has it been five years now?” 

She reached up a tucked a few strands of hair behind her bejeweled ear, her eyes downcast. “I think so.” 

“Wow. This is…so bizarre. What are you doing here, if I may ask?” 

She peered back up at him. “I’m a captain for the Lebonian army. I’m here to discuss some militia plans with Paradis Island.” 

He acted surprised at her lie. “A captain? Really? Well, thank you for your service, even if you don’t live in Paradis Island anymore.” 

“Why are you here?” 

“I’m actually training to be an advisor to the Queen. Mr. Erwin Smith is my mentor and is a current counselor to Her Majesty. I’ve been talking about all sorts of diplomatic relations with other countries for the benefit of both our nations.” 

She pursed her lips and he had a sudden urge to kiss them. “Do you enjoy it?” 

“Oh, yes! I’ve learned so much and Mr. Smith is a very wise man. Sometimes I have to pinch myself to check and see if this is all a dream.” He trailed off   
and gave her a small smile. “I feel like this is one right now.” 

Annie’s eyes were hard yet light. She hung on his every word and he could see the gears turning in her mind, scrutinizing everything he said. It was strange, how she was looking at him. It’s like she didn’t know what to think or say or do; her guard was up incredibly high but she didn’t know which way the ravens were coming. 

He stepped closer and whispered through his own hard gaze, “May I speak with you? Alone?” 

“Have you already made a little friend, Annie?” 

Armin stepped back as he peered up at Goliath (aka Reiner Braun). He was at least three times his size and brought justice to the name Erwin bestowed on him. The muscles in his shoulders, arms, and chest bulged through his suit and his bowtie looked pathetically tiny on him. He had his hands in his slacks and he was grinning down at Armin. Most might mistake it as friendly or amused, but Armin found it as sly as a cobra. 

Annie half turned to him. “It’s someone I used to know back in grade school.” 

Reiner shrugged and stuck out his hand to Armin. “That tells me absolutely nothing, but I’ll take it. I’m Reiner Braun, nice to meet you…?” 

Armin shook his giant hand. His hold could’ve crushed all the bones in his fingers, but he tried not to let it show. “Uh, Armin. Armin Arlert.” 

Reiner’s grin widened. “Arlert, alright.” 

Cold fear settled in his bones. He knew who he was. 

He crossed his arms and shifted his weight. “So, what brings you here, Mr. Arlert? Do you work for Queen Historia?” 

“Um…” His eyes peeked at Annie once more. She was staring at him with the same intense look. Did she know he was lying? Would she tell Reiner, right here and now? No, that was too reckless and stupid. She would wait to strike. 

He looked back up at Reiner’s smirk. “Kind of. I’m training to be an advisor to her.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “An advisor, huh? That must mean you’re really sharp. You gotta be at this day and age—don’t know what might lurking around the corner.” 

Armin swallowed at the subtle threat. “Yes. It’s a crazy world we live in.” 

Reiner let out a snort. “You can say that again.” He then turned to his left and nudged a dark-haired man beside him. “Hey, Berthold. Come meet this guy.” 

Just as the man turned around, Jean’s voice echoed in Armin’s ear: “Is that Loyal Scythe?” 

“Haven’t heard from him in a long while,” Levi mumbled. “They either must be desperate or they are planning to burn down this place.” 

“Keep your guard up, Mind Grenade,” the Commander consoled.

Loyal Scythe looked down at him with an awkward wave. “Good evening.” 

Armin nodded his head once. “Hello.” 

“This is Armin Arlert,” Reiner explained. “Apparently he and Annie used to be friends and he’s on his way to being Queen Historia’s advisor.” 

Berthold glanced at Reiner, got the message, and looked back at Armin. “Oh. That’s very interesting.” 

“Do you all work together in the Lebonian army?” Armin asked as he wagged his finger at all three of them. 

Reiner nodded. “Sure do. I’m one of its leading commanders and these two are my faithful captains. Been there for about five years now.” 

Armin pursed his lips. “I see.” 

“They’re getting awfully close,” Sasha’s voice chimed. She sounded worried. “Should we do something?” 

“Not yet, it’s too soon,” Levi answered. 

Armin did feel like a bug under a microscope. They all stared at him with focused eyes, hungry wolves closing in on a little rabbit. He fidgeted a little and cleared his throat. “It’s very refreshing to see close friends of Annie, but I was wondering if I could talk with her privately. You see, it’s been so long since I’ve last seen her and I’d really like to catch up.” He looked at her. “If that’s alright with you.” 

The intensity in her eyes dropped almost immediately and returned to that mildly interested look he was most familiar with. He practically just said “Look, I’m a spy too, and two can play at this game”. Whatever doubts she had in mind melted away; she now knew what she was getting into. 

Annie didn’t respond immediately but let her gaze linger, tugging on her red shawl. Her eyes flicked to the silver ball on his suit and then back at him. 

“Um, I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Berthold tried answering for Annie. 

Armin looked straight at him and tilted his head to the side. “Why is that?” he asked, his tone dead compared to the airy tone he’d used only moments ago. 

Berthold blinked and he saw his throat bobble nervously. “Well, no offense, but times are tough right now, and we can’t be too careful about who we associate ourselves with. Surely you can understand? The army has made us a little…cautious.” 

Armin nodded. “Sure I can, but you’re not Annie, whom I was talking to in the first place. Awfully rude of you to think you can speak for her experiences and morals.” 

Berthold flinched and, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Annie blink slowly in amusement. 

Reiner straightened up and he suddenly seemed like the tallest thing in the room. “Like he said, the army has made us cautious and we just can’t trust you right now. If you really want to keep this tie between the Lebonian people and Paradis Island, then I suggest you stick to what you do best: staying locked up in your little library and having no experiences whatsoever.” 

“Goliath looks like he’s gonna bust a nut,” Connie pointed out. “Mind Grenade’s gonna get crushed if we don’t save his ass.” 

“I’m going,” Mikasa replied. Armin could hear the loud rapid clicking of her heels on the other side of the room, storming in his direction. 

“A Hundred Men, stay back,” ordered Erwin. “We can’t ambush them.” 

Another set of footfalls jogged after Mikasa (presumably Eren) and they both came to a halt. 

Annie’s head twisted towards Reiner and the two shared a glance that Armin couldn’t quite decipher. It didn’t last long and they both peered back at him, waiting for his next reply. Not wanting to disappoint, he sighed and stated, “Well, I’m well-aware of both your opinions, but I’d still like to hear it from Annie. If she says no, I will walk away. Simple as that.” 

Again, she didn’t say anything right away. He watched her brush her bangs out of her eyes and raise her chin at him. Her clear blue eyes darted around his own and he saw the tiniest of smirks grace her bloody lips and her answer sent chills down his spine.

“I’m interested in hearing what you have to say, Mr. Arlert.” 

“I suggest a distraction on this one,” Levi spoke in his ear. 

“I’m on it,” Sasha replied automatically. 

Although he kept his eyes on Annie, he could vaguely see Sasha, Mother Wolf, speed-walk through the crowd, her orange dress bouncing against her hips. Her big eyes were locked onto him as she raised the champagne glass she had in her hands and threw whatever remaining liquid had been in there onto the side of Berthold’s face. 

Berthold jerked and Reiner spun his head his way, but Annie’s stare never left Armin’s. 

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” Sasha slurred in a voice as though she were drunk. She sloppily patted at Berthold’s neck and chest, spreading the alcohol all over him. Berthold caught her wrists and held them away from him, but she pushed her weight against him and wiggled his fingers at his lips. 

“I’m sorry, so-sorry!” She made long whiney noises and swayed from side to side. “Jared told me not to drink but I did. I drank all of it. I drank and I tripped and now it’s all over you. You and your pretty, pretty face.” 

“It’s fine, really,” Berthold said as he tried pushing her away, but to no avail. Sasha was giving it her all. 

“I’m so sorry!” she wailed, her voice echoing in the large ballroom. Most conversations died and glasses stopped clinking as peoples’ gaze turn on her (only the string players in the corner went on as though they heard nothing). Ultimately Connie showed up awkwardly by Sasha’s side and pulled her away from Berthold. 

“Come now, Margaret,” he muttered. “Get off the man; you’re clearly stressing him out.” 

“Oh, Jared!” Sasha dramatically fell back onto him with drunk arms. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean it!” 

“I know, you dumb thing.” He patted her back and lightly pushed her to the side. He then reached out and grabbed Berthold’s elbow. “On behalf of my wife, I’m sorry for all the mess. Are you alright?” 

“I can’t believe this is actually working,” Jean’s dumbfounded tone muttered in their ears.

Berthold rubbed at his tie, spraying droplets of champagne onto the floor. “Yes, I’m fine. No need to—”

“Oh, no, you gotta dab, not rub,” Connie insisted. “You’ll ruin your suit if you do. Come, let’s get you cleaned up.” 

“Yes, yes! Let’s clean you up!” Sasha agreed, pulling him along. 

Berthold easily wiggled out of Connie and Sasha’s grasp on him. “Ah, no. I’m fine, really. Thank you, but I think I can manage.” 

“Come on, man.” Connie grabbed his wrist again. “You don’t want to stand here and look like a fool, all drenched in alcohol. You’ll look worse than my wife, and that’s saying something.” 

As Sasha wacked Connie upside the head with drunk arms, Berthold tugged back on his limb. “No, I’m fine. I—”

“No, he’s right, Bert,” Reiner stepped in, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t wanna look bad; that suit was expensive.” He peered at him with a knowing look. “I’ll help you out.” 

Everyone knew what that meant and a new kind of nervousness seeped in Armin’s bones. He looked at the momentary flash of fear brighten Sasha’s eyes, but she stuck to her distraction and pulled on Reiner’s enormous bicep. 

“Yes, thank you! You have a very kind friend, Bert!” 

Before the two Warriors stumbled off with Connie and Sasha, Reiner gave Annie a once-over and guided Berthold toward the back. They knew now that the ravens were watching. 

“Inferno, come with me,” Levi ordered. Armin noticed the small man sneak through the crowd and follow after Young Bullet and Mother Wolf at a safe distance. 

“Yes, sir,” Jean responded just as Eren said, “What about me and A Hundred Men?” 

“You two stay here in case Mind Grenade needs help. I’ll call you if things get nasty.” 

Armin peeked at Eren and Mikasa on the other side of the room, who were staring at him as if they were getting into the intense climax of an action movie. Jean crept behind them, placing his empty glass on a server’s tray as he went. 

“Are you alright, Mr. Arlert?” 

Armin’s eyes snapped back to Annie. She had a tiny smirk on her lips and she stared at him unblinkingly. “You seem a little on edge.” 

He swallowed the dread as best he could and smiled back. “No need to act like strangers. You know my name and I yours. We both know how this works.” 

Annie nodded slowly. “Indeed.” 

He offered his hand. “So, are you willing to play this game?” 

She looked at his hand and then back at his eyes. She stared for a long while and he wondered what she saw there. The plan entirely? The gamble she’d have to take? Maybe the lost love that slipped through their fingers like grains of sand? Whatever she saw, she deemed worthy of risk as her hand curled around his own. 

“We’ve been playing it for a long time already.” 

He tried ignoring the familiar sense of security as her fingers gingerly wrapped around his knuckles. When he didn’t know who she was, he felt safe in her arms, but now that he knew these very arms strangled dozens of innocent people, he didn’t know what to think. Nevertheless, it was strange, desperate of him to squeeze back like they only saw each other yesterday. 

They snaked through politicians, soldiers, diplomates, and monarchs until they came upon the arched threshold that Squad Raven’s Call came through. Instead of taking the way he came in, he turned the other way and followed the hall until it swerved to the left. 

Queen Historia’s words pounded in his skull as he tried to remember the room where Annie was supposed to die in: “Turn left then right and then go straight down to the second door on the left. It’s a small parlor room where I entertain good friends of mine. If you need assistance in any way, there’s a fake book sitting on the mantlepiece above the fireplace. Open it and press the button—my guards should come to your aid immediately.” 

She had paused and then added in a second thought, “I kind of hate the room actually. I don’t care if you spill her blood everywhere.” 

Hopefully he wouldn’t have to do that, nor use that book. 

He peeked at Annie over his shoulder. She was taking in their surroundings, gazing at portraits and other noticeable features in the surprisingly bland hallway. He suddenly remembered a time when he managed to drag Annie out of her house and take her out on a real date. As they roamed the dark city, her eyes wildly wandered around them and he thought it was cute at the time, looking at the world as though she’d never seen it before. But now he figured she was probably on the lookout for enemies and trying to remember the path back home.

When she looked at him, he turned away. The impending guilt weighed heavily in his chest like a stone. Surely she would see that in his eyes, wouldn’t she? 

“Your hand is cold,” she muttered out of the blue as they approached the chosen killing room. 

He looked at her monotone face and dropped her hand. “Sorry.” 

“Your hands were always cold.” A pause. “You really haven’t changed, have you?” 

He too hesitated before he replied, “Probably as much as you have.” 

As soon as he opened the door, their waiting game began its slow climb to its brutal end. 

For a parlor room in a palace, Historia was right—it was really small. Two red velvet chairs sat in front of the fireplace on the left, currently inactive. A tiny table was placed between them with a bottle of wine and two glasses rested upon it. A bookcase and desk were on the right side of the room; the shelves were completely packed and a single lamp was placed on the corner of the long wooden desk. An oval portrait was the only thing on the opposite side of the room—because of the dim lightning, Armin couldn’t tell who it was, only that they had dark hair and had the shape of a woman. A red rug circled majority of the room and Armin’s eyes fell on the white mantelpiece. There sat a box of matches, another lamp, and the book Historia told him about. 

Armin stepped in first and Annie hesitantly went in after him. She inched toward the bookshelf as he shut the door with his back to it, quietly switching the lock on the doorknob. For a moment, he watched her move, giving her the benefit of the doubt so she can examine the room first before he unfairly took advantage of its traps that he already knew about. Her hips slowly swayed from side to side and her snow white legs poked out of that slit in her dress as she sauntered around. Her exposed shoulder blades moved against her flesh as she tightened her shawl around her biceps. 

“I’ll start a fire, if you’re cold,” he blurted out rather stupidly. “It is kinda chilly.” 

He waddled over to the fireplace with his back to her, hoping she wouldn’t see the heat now flushed across his cheeks once he realized he’d been staring at her ass. He fished a match out of the box on the mantelpiece and tried to remain totally focused on lighting a fire, painfully aware of the hardcover a mere foot away from him. A spark eventually ignited the end of the match and he kneeled down to place it under the perfectly positioned logs. As he fed the fire, he heard Levi’s voice in his ear. 

“Last Hope and A Hundred Men, get your asses to the back of the palace right now.” 

Armin felt his heart drop to the floor as Eren stumbled out a frantic “Y-Yes, sir!” What happened? Were Connie, Sasha, and Jean okay? Did Reiner and Berthold somehow escape and were on their way to finding Annie right now? He waited for people to start screaming in the ballroom a few halls down, but he heard nothing and reluctantly went on with his part of the plan. 

The fire snapped and popped, sending a wave of heat against Armin’s knees. He rubbed his hands together and stood back up. He looked back at Annie. She was trailing her fingers along the desk, eyeing the many drawers it held and the glass lamp that sat atop it. The orange glow of the fire pulsed against her figure, highlighting the sharp features of her body. He wanted to trace the intense arc of her jaw, the smooth curves of the muscles in her arms and legs, the narrow strips of her collarbones. It’d been so long, too long, and the urge to know overwhelmed his senses. 

He waited until he couldn’t anymore: “Where did you go?” 

She dragged her eyes over to him, and he saw that dull look in them as if he just asked a stupid question. It was a dumb question—she knew he’d report it to Erwin and she planned on getting out of here alive. Of course she wouldn’t tell him, but he cut her a deal. 

In a whisper, he said, “I won’t tell anyone. I just want to know.” When she still didn’t answer, he played the guilt card, “As the only person who ever loved you, I have a right to know, Annie.” 

Something in her eyes softened for a minute but she adverted them to the floor before he could get a good look at it. She waited some more before mumbling so quietly he had to strain his neck forward in order to hear her: “We drove three states over in about two hours. Dad didn’t tell me where we were going; I had to pay attention to road signs the entire way.” 

He stiffened when she mentioned her father. He never actually saw him; he imagined him to have the same small chin and short structure as Annie, but his hands would be big enough to throw little girls down stairs. 

He pointed to his eyebrow even though he knew Annie wasn’t looking at him. “Did he do that to you?” 

“We’re not together anymore, so why are you so concerned about it?” Her tone was harsh, a little frustrated. It was the same tone she used whenever he began asking too many questions. Back then, he would drop the matter, not wanting her to be upset with him or make her uncomfortable with memories she was trying to forget, but this waiting game would have to end eventually. They couldn’t avoid it any longer. 

“Just because we’re not together doesn’t mean my feelings have been erased,” he countered. “You can’t just will it all away, it doesn’t work like that. And you’re the one who left…” He sighed, backtracking it a little. “And it’s not your fault. None of this is.” 

She looked back at him. Her jaw was clenched, and her eyes were drained. She looked so tired. He couldn’t imagine living her life—everything was planned since day one and she had no say in the matter. She had to hibernate like a secret, a lie. He couldn’t blame her for pushing him away or not telling him the whole truth, for it was all she knew how to do. But then again, honesty and trust was key in a relationship of any kind and here they stood, spying on each other for others who wanted to tear apart their enemies. 

As if to remind him, he heard something crackle in his ear and then a brief shout of anger. It sounded like Eren or Jean. They were physically trying to defeat their enemy with hand-to-hand combat while Armin and Annie were trying to mentally rip one another down to their core, their weapons their words and minds. It was a cruel way to die and Armin didn’t like it all. 

“We don’t have to do this, you know,” he mumbled into the quiet. The whole point of the waiting game was to think, look for the reaction of your opponent to better your attack. When you wait, there is silence and silence often spoke louder than words ever could. With Annie doing the majority of the waiting, she thought the most and had a good sense of her surroundings. He had to act on the spot, despite if it was a good idea or not. 

“You don’t have to live like this.” He walked around the chairs and slowly approached Annie like she was a sleeping bear. She didn’t move or flinch at his sudden actions, so he continued inching forward. He held out his hands as sign of surrender and spoke as softly as he could, attempting everything in his power to sound convincing. 

“Like what?” Annie challenged, frowning. He noticed her take a hesitant step back. 

“Like you are nothing more than a shadow. Just going where people tell you to go, never knowing who you truly are. It’s a lonely life you’re leading.” 

“And the life you’re leading isn’t? Casting yourself as a burden to those around you when they have never seen you in such a way? If anything, you’re just as lonely and foolish as I am.” 

He glared. “At least I can make my own decisions.” 

She glared back. “And you’ve chosen to make yourself suffer unnecessary wounds. Stop making other people’s problems your concern.” 

“Hurt is always companied by love; you cannot have one without the other. But you wouldn’t know about that, wouldn’t you?” 

She looked at him as if he just slapped her across the face. “Are you suggesting I never cared?” 

“You just left, Annie!” His voice nearly raised to a shout and he gestured to the air as if it was filled with the soul-draining dread and heart-crushing lonesomeness he felt over the last five years. “I didn’t know what happened to you; I thought you were dead! You never answered me, left no sort of clue as to where you were. You left like it was easy, like none of it mattered at all…” 

He watched her cold, hard orbs melt. Despite the scar on her eyebrow, it was the first ray of hurt he ever saw on her, and it came from him. She waited for him to pick up his trailed off sentence or take it all back, but when he didn’t, she sucked in a breath and leaned toward him, the space between them less than a foot long. 

“If I stayed or said anything, he would’ve killed you. They all would’ve come after you and your body would be chopped into tiny pieces and spread across some field in the middle of nowhere. No one would’ve known what had become of you—not Eren or Mikasa, not your Queen’s henchmen, absolutely no one. So, don’t you dare say I never cared because everything I did was for you, all the secrets and sneaking around and locked doors.” She hesitated and then whispered out, “That’s the one thing you will never know, how much I did care, you fucking oblivious weakling.” 

The silence was louder than ever. It made the crackling fire seem like nothing more than the drop of a pin. Armin could feel his heart pulse along to the beat of it, slow and dragging. It was as if time itself had stopped for a moment.

He almost didn’t hear the sound of a gun go off somewhere in the dead of night outside. 

The sound didn’t fully register until he saw Annie slowly press a finger to her ear. “Not now, Reiner,” she answered. “I’m busy.” 

His heart picked up speed again as the dull glare returned to her eyes. “Should I tell Reiner I’m coming or do you have something else to say?” 

She was giving him another chance. She took a crushing blow and was offering him another shot at either ending this game or letting it drag on some more. She was right—they had been playing this cruel game for a long time now and it would be fair to end it. But how? 

He pursed his lips and took another half step to her (she didn’t move back this time). “We can leave, right now.” 

She let out a laugh. It came out in a burst like a small firework and she rolled her eyes along with her head. He saw her pearly white teeth gleam in the fire’s faint glow as she pulled back her lips with fishhooks, forming a wobbly smile at the verge of breaking down. 

“You really are stupid, aren’t you?” she uttered in a strained voice. “You’ve played spy for too long and now you’re just like the rest of us, puppets on our little strings, pawns on an empty chessboard.” 

“I’m not talking about them anymore, Annie.”

“Then you’re a greater moron than I thought you were. You think you can just escape like that?” She snapped her fingers together and, at the same time, her right eyebrow twitched. 

He copied her action. “Just like that.” 

As she stared at him with wide eyes, shaking her head slowly, he explained: “You don’t think it can happen? You made yourself and others disappear without a trace, more than once. If you can do it, why can’t we? I imagine it would be pretty easy to just walk out the palace doors right now, with everyone being preoccupied and whatnot.” He waited for a moment. “Everyone here trusts me; they would believe me if I told them anything.” 

Her wide crazy eyes lowered to his chest, deep in thought. They then snapped back up to his eyes faster than the switch of a light. She was tempted, but she didn’t trust him. She obviously had good reason to be suspicious. He softened his gaze and tried again. 

His lazily raised his hand and carefully intertwined their fingers together. She watched his bony fingers slowly fall between the gaps of her own trembling ones and clutch at her sharp knuckles, their palms pressed together. He gently stroked his thumb over the back of her hand. The familiar feeling of holding her hand when she was scared washed over him like a hurricane of forgotten memories. He wasn’t expecting the sensation and he sighed through the grip on his heart. 

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” he admitted in a subdued tone. “We’re not good people anymore; we’ve done awful things. I know none of it can be taken back and asking for forgiveness is unspeakable at this point. And I know you don’t want to do this either.” He looked at her again. “So, what’s stopping us from leaving it all behind?” 

“Raven’s Call, what’s happening?” Erwin’s deep voice rang. “Mind Grenade, are you there?” 

The Ice Queen continued to melt before him, the ice chipping off her bones to reveal the warm soul beneath. Her eyes relaxed at the idea—running away, it was something she was well-familiar with, but this time she wouldn’t be running alone. He could see the fantasy playing behind those lovely orbs of hers like shadows on a wall. 

She blinked up at him and the dream faded. “Where would we go?” she whispered. 

He smiled sadly and squeezed her hand. “Anywhere you want. No matter if it’s the darkest part of the woods or the deepest slope of the ocean, I’ll follow you. If it makes you happy, then so be it. You too deserve happiness.” 

She stood as rigid as a flagpole as he slowly leaned down, being pulled forward by the overwhelming amounts of memories and sentiments that involved Annie. Once their lips met, his insides nearly burst at the familiarly he tried to forget for so long. 

It stared as light as butterfly wings; it made his heart flutter so. The warmth of her skin, the faint smell of her hair, the soft touch of her fingers. The nostalgia vibrated his veins and sparked like wildfire in his brain and he hungered for more, wanting to feel as if nothing changed at all, as if she was still his. With his other hand, he reached up and gently stroked her strong jawline (he wanted to do that since he first laid eyes on her that night). It enticed her to deepen the kiss, loosening her stiff posture and drawing her closer to him. 

She untwined their fingers and reached up, grabbing his jacket collar and pulling him downward. At the same time, he smiled into her lips and hugged her waist. He felt her sheer shawl slip to the floor, completely forgotten now. For a while, the only sounds reverberating through Armin’s ears were the soft popping of the fire and the tiny gasps of breath between kisses. All was sweet and all was tranquil until he heard the quick slash of something metal near his ear. 

Everything stopped—the reminiscences, her hands, his heart—and his eyes peeled open in dreadful anticipation. Annie’s ice-cold eyes were locked onto his and, out of the corner of his vision, he spotted Hanji’s ballpoint knife resting against the side of his throat, its tiny blade gleaming in the fire’s light. 

“Would you follow me to the blackest pit of death, you little liar?” Annie’s voice sliced the air as she pressed the knife further into his neck. 

She didn’t push hard, but he could still feel it leave its mark on him. Hanji was right—it was as sharp as glass, as a razor blade and his throat stung as a small drop of blood ran down his neck and soak into his collar. He grunted, terrified of Annie’s eyes more than anything. And because he was terrified, he couldn’t think rationally. And so, he did what most people would do when struck by fear: wreak havoc. 

His hand indistinctively reached out and grabbed the glass lamp sitting on the desk beside them. He tried bashing it against Annie’s head, but she saw what he was doing and caught his wrist just in time. She rammed his hand onto the desk, forcing him to let go of the lamp but, as soon as he did, it broke into several large pieces, one of which pierced his pointer finger. 

He squeaked at the pain. The blood was gushing out of his hand and he shakingly plucked the glass piece out of his finger. Another burst of pain exploded, and the blood came rushing. He glanced up at Annie who was staring down at him with his knife firmly positioned in the air, ready to strike if he dared to move. He saw the hesitation in those eyes, though, a slice of worry swirling around like a hurricane and he decided to play on that. 

His own gaze narrowed, sharp as the knife in her hand. “Well? What are you waiting for? Kill me. You have the upper-hand, so use it.” 

She only stared. He noticed her lip quivering at the slightest. There was another lie—he was the one in power, even if she was the one holding the knife. 

“You seriously want to drag out this game even further? Haven’t I given you all the time in the world to do something? Here’s your chance to prove yourself a Warrior and you can’t even do it! How’s this different from all the other times you’ve stolen lives from other innocent souls? Do something, Annie! Who are you—?”

He was cut off by Annie’s quick and unbelievably powerful kick to the face. Her heel sliced at his upper lip and he thought he heard something snap in his nose. He felt warmth spurt from his mouth and nostrils, and he dropped to the floor with a hard thump. 

His hand swiped at his mouth and his palm came back red. He spit out a bubble of blood that simmered at the edge of his torn lip and tried crawling away, but she was already on top of him. She sat on his upper chest and had her hands wrapped firmly around his throat. He looked at her dead eyes as her thumbs pressed into his Adam’s apple, slowly crushing him. 

His hands clutched at her wrists and tried pulling them away, he banged his fists on her thighs which felt like moldings of steel, he reached at her face but could only brush his stained fingers against her flowy bangs. It was all in vain; there was no escape. He panted and grunted and choked on the little clasps of iron around his neck. 

“Your neck is so small,” Annie stated with no emotion, her eyes as cold as glaciers. “It would be so easy to just snap it in half. But you’ve always been so small, haven’t you? What a dumb choice you’ve made, going into such a dangerous business as the Survey Corps. It’s a lot of hand-to-hand combat which you have no strength in you to even last five minutes. Everyone has to save your weak little ass all the time, don’t they?” She looked at him expectantly. “Are you gonna do something or just sit there and die?” 

His vision went in and out of blurriness and Annie’s voice sounded so far away. He tried saying her name but it came out as a struggled groan with no direction. His eyes began to water and his hands became loose, but he still dragged them across the carpet around him, searching for something that might help him. They came upon the leg of the desk, the wooden bookcase, and then they found the ballpoint knife that Annie had so carelessly dropped. 

But it wasn’t like her to toss aside such a valuable weapon. Was it purposeful? 

He didn’t dwell on the thought any longer and plunged it into her midthigh. He felt her blood swell around his fist and her body jolt at the sudden pain. Her grip on him slackened a little and he took a large gulp of air before grabbing on the earring on her right earlobe and yanking down hard. At the same time, a low ticking sound went off.

More blood splattered onto his face as Annie gasped at the sharp pain. She grabbed at his hand and his fingers dug into the side of face, ramming her temple into the edge of the desk right next to her. She slumped to the side, finally giving him enough wiggle-room to pry himself out of her clutches.   
He stumbled to his feet and dashed to the other side of the room, to the mantelpiece. He heard Jean’s voice yell into his ear “Commander, we’ve got a—” before being cut off once again. Armin saw his red hand reach out for the book and something tiny fling across the room and onto the mantelpiece. The same ticking noise from earlier sounded again and the next thing he saw was a bright white light. 

The world became fuzzy again. Everything moved in slow swirls like that of a watercolor painting. All he heard was a low ringing sound in his ears—he couldn’t even hear his own ragged breathing or the crackling of the fire. He felt really hot all of a sudden and his hand seemed to have touched the sun.   
He was back on the floor; how did he end up there? He tried blinking back into existence from this watercolor world, but everything was so light, so dizzy. He pushed himself back into a sitting position and used the nearby wall to bring him back onto his feet, but he lost his balance and he felt himself heading face-first to the floor below. And then he felt a familiar pair of arms catch him. 

There was a low mumbling sound like someone was talking to him and he thought it was Jean or Eren or Erwin speaking in his ear. He went to respond but instead of feeling his fingers press against his ear, he felt his knuckles. He looked down and realized that his first three fingers were gone; only his pinkie finger and thumb remained, the rest was a bloody stump of bone and burn marks. 

“—min,” came the same low mumble, a scream in the midst of a waterfall. “Arm—Sorr—Don’t—” 

He directed his hazy gaze to the noise. Annie had a panic-stricken look on her face as she half-dragged, half-carried him across the parlor. He tried to focus on what she was saying but something behind her captured his attention. The mantelpiece and the wall behind it had a decent size hole in it, about the size of a stovetop. Little flames licked at the remnants of the mantelpiece and bits of wood and glass and stone sprinkled the floor. The book was nowhere in sight. 

Was there a bomb? Armin thought to himself as Annie gently lowered him onto one of the chairs in front of the fireplace. He studied the damage with an acute interest; he saw Annie’s now terrified eyes locked onto him and felt her hands poke at his face, chest, and hands like a trapped mouse, unsure of where to go. She glanced over her shoulder, saw the other fire, and grabbed the sealed wine bottle beside him on the tiny, circular table. She cracked it open by slamming the neck onto the broken mantelpiece and then dumped its contents onto the tiny flames. 

Armin’s head rolled to the side and his intact hand dropped from the arm of the very stiff chair. He felt something sharp lightly graze against his fingertip—more glass. How much damage was done exactly? Was it from the broken lamp, the wine bottle, or from something else? He tried focusing his gaze on the locked door of the parlor room (which didn’t appear ravaged in any way) but his attention was drawn back to Annie, who had carefully tilted his face back to her. 

He never saw such fear before in those eyes. It was strange to see her this way, mouth sputtering with all sorts of excuses, tears sliding down her cheeks like honey. He never saw her cry before. He didn’t know what to think of it. Why was she crying anyway? 

Her voice was clearer this time: “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. You pulled on my earring and-and I didn’t know what to do. I-I didn’t—Armin, I didn’t mean it.” 

She continued babbling to herself in half broken sobs as she scanned his body once more. She cried out a strangled howl when she lifted his left hand, the bloody stump of a thing. He still felt dizzy, like he was full of hot air as he watched her hurriedly rip apart the end of her dress and tie the long piece in some sort of knot around his hand. Her fingers trembled and tears splashed onto the fabric. God, he never seen her so distressed. 

“Annie.” He sounded like a fish out of water, like his lungs were full of smoke. Either saliva or blood drippled from his cracked lips and his voice was barely above a whisper, but she still heard it. Her head snapped up—black eye makeup was now clouded beneath her eyes and around her cheeks, and dark blood ran down the side of her neck from her torn earlobe. Her eyes searched his face once more and he could see her heart shredding itself apart. 

“I’m so sorry,” she moaned again. Her shaking fingers reached out and lightly stroked at what he thought was his cheek, but he didn’t feel anything. In fact, he couldn’t feel his face at all; all was numb and warm. He wished he could feel her, one last time, but wasn’t sure if that was possible. 

Forgetting that he hardly had a left hand, his pinkie finger dragged itself across her palm. He luckily could feel that, her warm, rough, small hand. It felt nice, just like old times. He watched her eyes dart toward their hands. He could tell that she wanted to grab it, but, of course, there was nothing to hold. She looked back at him and held his tired gaze for a long moment. 

I know you didn’t mean it, he tried saying with his eyes. It wasn’t personal, none of this is. 

Tears welled in her eyes again. Her lips twitched and the muscles in her throat jerked. But something came over her, a sort of understanding. Although fear and self-loathing was as vibrant as ever, she looked at him as if he were her entire world. She reached up once again and brushed his bangs out of his eyes. Her finger outlined the other side of his face, the hair in his eyebrow, the creases around his eyes, the roundness of his cheeks. It felt so refreshing and he knew he couldn’t let her drag on any longer because then this would be too hard to do. 

So, before she could do something dangerous like hold or kiss him, he picked up the piece of glass at the floor and swiftly shoved it into her stomach. 

Her body lurched forward and her eyes widened. A little grunt escaped her lips as the glass piece slid like butter into her abdomen. He didn’t want to look into her eyes and see the betrayal play across them, but he had no choice. He took responsibility for his actions and watched her peer at him. It wasn’t hurt or shock or anger that stared back at him, nothing that would cut him as much as the glass in her stomach. Instead there was easement and expectedness and familiarity. It was as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. 

The piece was much longer than he expected (about a foot long), so he pushed it in deeper. Another gasp flew from Annie and she nearly fell into his lap. He stood up from the chair and continued pushing, reeling her backwards until she flopped into the chair across from him. Her hands encircled his wrist tightly, but she wasn’t trying to pull it out or move anywhere for that matter. She just held him in place and gazed at him with that relaxed look. 

He stopped when he was sure that the glass had gone through her completely and stabbed at the chair’s velvet cushion. He then hauled it out of her in two yanks and they both watched the blood ooze out of her like faucet. It stained her red dress to a deep black color and it spread around her tummy and pelvis quickly, making its way to her thighs. Armin felt as if he just stabbed himself—Annie stared at her wound and then peeked up at him hovering over her like he was a lovely garden among a wasteland of horrors. 

His own tears blinded his vision again. I can’t let you die like this. 

He raised the tainted glass in the air and went to drive it into her heart but Annie’s trembling hand halted him. 

“W-Wait,” she croaked. She coughed and a spittle of blood decorated her very red lips. “Let me suffer for what I’ve done.” 

Armin shook his head. Let her suffer? Why on earth would he let her do that? The whole point of him being appointed her killer was for it to be quick; it was the whole idea of a lovers’ death. If it was anyone else, they would surely let her bleed out for hours and hours—Levi would watch her struggle for the loss of his previous squad and Jean would let the blood run dry before leaving the room for the death of his long lost love, Marco Bodt—but it was Armin. He wouldn’t, he couldn’t just leave her like roadkill. She meant so much more than that, despite what she’s done. 

“Please,” she begged. “Just…sit here with me. Please.” 

He looked at her bloodied palm reaching out to him. How heavily stained it was. Was the blood ever cleaned from her hands? And those eyes, pleading for him and only for him. For a moment, he wished he never met her and then they wouldn’t be here right now. But would he ever know the true meaning of love if they never met? 

He swallowed a cry. This wasn’t about him anyway; this was her dying wish and he would do as she wanted. He let the glass slip from his fingers, fall to his knees, and then folded her little hand into his, stroking his thumb over her knuckles. 

She sighed at the feeling and he thought he saw a little smirk tug at her lips. “Thank you.” 

They sat, waiting. The fire continued popping and the silence was as unbearable as ever. Armin was surprised that no one came running when the tiny bomb went off. He peered at his injured hand, Annie’s makeshift tourniquet still wrapped firmly around him. He wondered how bad his face was—if it was anything like his hand, people would probably have a hard time believing he was in fact Armin Arlert, codename Mind Grenade. 

“I’m sorry for hurting you.” 

He glanced up. Annie was staring at him with another hopeless look in her eyes. “I didn’t know you cared so much.” 

It hurt when he moved his lips and hurt even more when he tried to speak, but he figured they both had to hear it said aloud: “I still do.” 

She lowered her eyes. “I know that now. Which is why it’s kind of hard to look at you.” She sighed again. “I’m sorry I did this to you. You shouldn’t be here.” 

It felt like fire seared across his face, yet he still tugged at his lips in a sad smile. I probably would’ve done something stupid sooner or later. Don’t blame yourself for the choices I made. 

“I know. I’m really sorry, Armin.” 

He squeezed her hand. I know. Just try to relax now. He looked at her earnestly. And I’ll see you again. 

He watched her eyes until they finally glazed over. 

With a heavy heart, he got back on his feet, feeling like Atlas with the weight of the world on his back. He gently laid her hand over her stomach, now black with blood, and put her other hand on top of it. He rested his lips on the scar over her eyebrow and tucked a stand of hair behind her ear. He looked at her icy orbs one more time before brushing his fingertips over her eyelids, bringing an end to the infamous Ice Queen. 

His eyes dragged to his wristwatch. 11:02 PM. It took Annie and the Warriors about an hour to arrive, thirty minutes to bring her into the parlor, another twenty to plunge the glass into her body, and it took her about forty-five minutes to die. 

“It’s done, Commander,” Levi suddenly announced in his earpiece. Armin was a little surprised it was still working. “Loyal Scythe and Goliath are exterminated.” 

Armin felt no joy or sense of accomplishment at those words when he thought he should. 

“Excellent job, Raven’s Call,” Erwin answered. 

He could hear Hanji sigh into her microphone like the rush of a river. 

“Mind Grenade, are you there?” Eren piped up, worry lacing his voice. 

Armin looked at Annie’s body. In spite of the gore that coated her, she looked fast asleep, lost in some pretty dream. 

“Yes, I’m fine,” he croaked back. “The Ice Queen…is also dead.” 

His earpiece vibrated with the different voices talking over one another. He heard Sasha say “Whoa, is she really?”, Eren smile back “That’s great. Good job, buddy”, and Connie question “Ugh, you don’t sound fine.” The static eventually died down and Erwin asked, “Do you need medical assistance, Mind Grenade?” 

Armin nodded as he stumbled toward the door. “Yes, sir.” 

“Alright, stay where you are,” Jean replied. He sounded out of breath like he either took a beating or he was currently running. “We’re coming for you.” 

“Yeah, hang in there, man,” Eren added. “Stay with us.” 

Armin’s strides got slower and he started feeling dizzy again. He saw four doorknobs instead of one and he swayed from side to side like any helpless drunk. Physical pain began settling into his bones, but nothing could compare to the mind grenade he, not Annie, threw in this little parlor room. 

He managed to unlock the door, but he tripped over the threshold and landed smack against the shiny tile flooring of the palace halls. He swam in and out of consciousness for God knows how long before he heard rapid footfalls coming his way and several hands tug on his body. Voices echoed in his ears like some distant knockings in a never-ending cave and he eventually gave up on trying to hold on. 

After five incredibly long years, the waiting game came to its promised brutal end. But, even now, there was no declared winner.


	7. Her (Cameron James Laing/Bunny Suit)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **SPOILER IN NOTES, NOT IN THE FIC ITSELF: You guys, we did it. Aruani flippin’ won. We beat EreMika, Springles, ReiBert, Hanji X Levi (I forget their ship name). All of them. To be honest, I don’t think any of us Aruani shippers even saw it coming. I think we were all just dreaming with the reality that’ll never happen. But Isayama has blessed us with their canon before (most likely) blowing them into fireworks of blood and guts because this is Attack on Titan and they’ll all die at the end. But at least they’ll be canon in OTP heaven too (he literally drew that!! Did you guys SEE Hanji’s face when she saw Erwin, Mike, and Moblit again??). 
> 
> Anyway, here’s another one to all you Aruani fans. Just be fucking happy, you two**

There was always something about an empty stage, an empty audience that intrigued Armin. Hearing your own footsteps echo across the slick black flooring and gazing out into a darkened room filled with a ghostly audience sent his senses on fire. Each step mattered in this void; the entire world was watching. 

He had arrived at the high school’s auditorium on a Saturday morning, about fifteen minutes earlier than they planned. He wanted to stretch beforehand and let that empty theater feeling really sink in. Not that he necessarily disliked being around people, but he enjoyed these little moments to himself. 

The lights were already on when he creaked open one of the double doors at the very back of the theater. Janitors and professors were probably made aware of Armin and Annie’s meetup and had set up everything they needed: lights, chairs, drawn-back curtains, and possible access to the audio booth overhead. He looked around and didn’t see nor hear anybody milling about, so he strolled his way down the narrow aisle and climb up the few steps to the stage. 

A stack of black plastic chairs was tucked against the back wall, along with technical equipment and homemade props for the school’s upcoming production of Macbeth. There was a big cauldron for the three seers and a dummy’s head for the protagonist’s tragic end. He set his duffel bag on the floor before plucking two chairs from the stack and setting them several yards apart. 

He dragged his bag by one of the chairs and then removed his winter attire until he was down to a white T-shirt and black shorts that ended right above his knees. The January chill had already begun to seep into his bones and the lack of a heater anywhere wasn’t exactly helping. He was half tempted to throw on his wool jacket until Annie got here, but he figured she would arrive soon and then they would start right away. 

He then stretched his body like a rubber band, circling his shoulder blades and touching his toes. He had to work on his strength, he knew—men were always given the job of lifting and throwing the women in a dance routine and he was more capable of twisting his body parts in odd angles than he was of raising someone above his head. His pencil legs and string bean arms weren’t much, and he knew Annie would test his muscles today rather than his flexibility. 

He sighed to himself. I’m probably gonna twist something by the time we’re done. I hope Marco doesn’t mind if I’m slow to his apartment tonight. 

After he was done stretching, he peeked at his phone in his duffel bag. 11:02. Annie should be here any minute. 

His bare feet slapped against the cold floor as he wandered around the stage. He waved his arms around as if they were the gentle waves of the seashore and occasionally twirled when he felt the need to like the slow turning of a ballerina in an old music box. He came to a stop at the edge of the stage and then lifted his leg back, reached his foot, and brought it to his head. The familiar dull ache pulsed in his forearms and thighs, but he ignored it. Instead his eyes roamed the vacant green seats in the audience. 

He imagined his friends and loved ones sitting in those seats. Eren and Mikasa sat up front while Sasha and Marco sat right behind them, all of their faces lit in interest and wonder. Connie would be pretty close by with a confused yet supportive look in his eye while Jean sat somewhere in the middle, his chin rested on his fist in boredom (sure, he was bored, but he was still there). His parents were tucked to the side, also sitting in the front row. They wore expressions as if they already saw this dance and were pleased with the results. He even saw his favorite professor, Dr. Hanji, sitting not too far behind his parents with a giant smile across her lips. She was his chemistry teacher back in middle school and she probably didn’t know a thing about dancing, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t be there for him if he asked. 

And then he imagined his dancing partner standing next to him. His audience now had a different outlook on the performance. 

Nearly everyone but his parents moved back a few rows. Mikasa was at the very back standing by the doors, blending well into the darkness. Eren had sat where Jean once was with a disgruntled look and Jean was a row or two behind him with crossed arms and a raised chin, clearly paying attention now. Connie didn’t take a drastic move either, but his lips were pursed in deeper thought, titter-tottering on what it all meant. Sasha and Marco sat close to Connie and were on the edge of their seats in nervousness and anticipation, hoping for a turn of events. Even Hanji was pushed further back, but not as far as Mikasa or Jean. She was frowning and appeared awfully serious. It was nerve-racking to see her without a smile; fatal judgement couldn’t be far behind. 

His parents never changed. They still looked up at her as if they were looking at him. What did they see in her exactly? A second chance? A glimmer of hope? Were they wise for seeing the gold in her darkness or were they crazy, mistaking her pearls for the teeth of a dragon? 

He sighed again, lowered his grip, and sauntered back to the rear corner of the stage. 

His eyes scanned the rickety Macbeth props (the swords could use a spray-paint job to look a little more realistic and the galloons of fake blood made him wonder exactly how many people died in the Shakespearean tragedy). His mind drifted back to the time and he pulled out his phone again. 11:19. Annie was late. Why didn’t he expect that? 

He scratched at his undercut as he sat himself down. He fished through his bag until he came to Of Mice and Men, a rented paperback copy with a bunch of blue pen markings all over from the previous student. He read the book before, but his current literature class demand that he read it again and remember another tragic tale that couldn’t be avoided. 

He got a few pages in before he heard a door slamming shut. 

He glanced up and saw the short yet bulky outline of Annie Leonhart strutting up the aisleway. Her hair was tied up in its usual bun on the top of her head and she wore a black hoodie with a black winter jacket on top of it. She had on black yoga pants with a purple stripe going up the sides and white tennis shoes. A black heavy-looking backpack hugged her spine. 

He shut his book with a small smile. “Hey, everything okay?” 

Her ice blue eyes caught his gaze in the dark as she ascended the stairs. “Yeah, why?” 

“Oh, you know, it’s just you’re…” He peeked at his phone again. “…twenty-five minutes late. I was starting to think you’d might be dead.” 

“Not yet,” she sighed before shrugging out of her backpack and placing it on the chair across the stage. 

He subconsciously watched her take off her clothes. At first, her puffy jacket looked comically big on her, but once she slipped out of it, he realized it fit her just fine. She practically ripped the zipper off her hoodie before draping it across the back of her chair, revealing a cropped white shirt. His eyes traced the muscles in her arms and legs, reminding him of some Michelangelo sculpture. Everything was carefully curled and perfectly shaped. He had danced with her before and had felt her strong arms and powerful legs—it was like running your hand across smooth stones in a small creek, stiff yet curved. 

“You have somewhere else to be?” he heard her ask and he quickly looked away once he realized she was watching him watching her. 

He could sense a horrible heat rising in his cheeks and he turned to his duffel bag to shield himself away from Annie’s stare. 

“Uh, later today, yes,” he stuttered, stuffing his book back in his bag. “But that’s not for another, like, five hours.” 

“Good. We’re gonna use all the time we have.” 

He peeked back at her. She kicked off her shoes and then reached inside her backpack. She pulled out her phone and a little black speaker the size of a baseball in her hands. She set the speaker on the floor in front of one of her chair’s legs and then fiddled with her phone. His eyes trailed to her snow-white feet. Bandages were wrapped around the tops of her feet and around her ankles. Her toes were a bright red and light shades of purple bloomed across her skin. He spotted a blister or two poking out of the bandage’s folds. It was obvious she danced more than him and it was to the point where she was physically hurting herself just so she can be good enough, if not better. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked her. “You don’t look like you’re in the best shape to—”

“I’m fine.” She cut him off without so much as a second glance. “If we want to win the competition, then we have to give it our all.” 

He frowned. “Dancing isn’t about winning…” 

She looked up at him then back at her phone. “Yes, it is. Just like with everything else in life, you have to be better than the guy in front of you.” 

He could honestly sit here all day and argue about what the meaning of life was, but, according to Annie, there were more pressing matters to deal with, so he let it go. 

A moment of silence passed before Annie spoke up: “I have a song suggestion here for the routine.” 

“Great. What is it?” 

“I’m not telling you.” 

He paused. “Why would you say you have a song suggestion and then not tell me what it is?” 

She set her phone next to the speaker and stood up, swinging her arms. “Because that’d be too easy. I want you to listen to it and react to it naturally with no prior knowledge. Don’t listen, just feel, that’s all.” 

“Well, can you at least tell me what it’s about? Loss? Rebirth? Second chances?” 

“Nope.” She then dropped to her toes, palms flat on the floor. She held it there for a moment before sitting down with one leg perfectly straight and grasping her foot with both hands, her forehead resting on her knee. 

Armin sighed, blowing his bangs out of his eyes. “I don’t want to react the opposite of what the message is supposed to be. I don’t want to twirl around aimlessly if the song is about knowing who you are.” 

Annie stretched her other leg, this time with her chin on her knee, her eyes directed at him. “No one’s going to a dance competition to listen to the lyrics. They’re going to see what the dancer thinks the lyrics mean. Stop worrying about it; you’ll do fine.” 

He sat there, waiting for her. Even when she was just stretching, she moved like a leaf through the autumn air, like the ripple of water once a stone is tossed into it. She could bend in every way, shape, and form. She made it look so easy, the way she would sink into a complete split as if it were the same as slipping into a jacket or tying up your shoelaces. Although she probably didn’t know it (she was too wrapped up in her work to know what others thought), she was the dancer every girl wanted to be and what every man wanted to dance with. 

He looked down at her bandaged feet again. That may be true, but at what cost? 

She stood back up and looked down at him expectantly. “You ready?” 

He lifted himself up and gave her a tight-lipped smile. “Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.” 

She turned around and leaned down to press a button on her phone. “Just feel, alright?” 

“I got it.” He squared his shoulders, closed his eyes, and waited for the melody to take him away. 

At first, he heard nothing. Just his own breathing and the sound of Annie’s light footsteps wandering around. He thought she might’ve pressed the wrong button on her phone, but then he heard something. It came slowly and quietly like a thief in the night. No particular instrument came to mind at the sound, only its tempo. It was as if he had been following the sound of something distant and, he longer he walked, the louder the noise became. 

He exhaled slowly and opened his eyes just as an acoustic guitar softly cried to itself. 

The walls, ceiling, and floor were now lined in limestone. A dim light radiated from somewhere and it gave the room an eerie feel—shadows swallowed the corners and loomed over the tallest rock, gazing down on Armin, ready to eat him whole. The floor beneath was cold and slick like the back of a dolphin and the walls and ceiling portrayed the same glossy look. The limestone had no proper structure or balance; it dripped from the ceiling in random spurts and shot out of the ground like arrows. A single drop of water leaked from somewhere above every so often; Armin couldn’t tell where it came from. 

The ominous climb of the song brought him here, in the middle of a dark cave. 

His eyes rose and eventually found Annie, up high on a foundation of crumpled limestone. Her back was to him, but it was curved oddly at a ninety-degree angle. Her arms dangled and her bun sagged. She then moved like an old doll snapping itself back into place—her back straightened somewhat, but she stopped suddenly as if she got stuck in those rusty joints of hers. Her hands slowly dug themselves in her hair and she cowered into a little half-ball.  
What was this thing he found here in the cave? Some poor soul who was doomed to a life in the darkness? A creature molded from the limestone like an ancient cave drawing brought to life? Who was she and why was she here? 

The guitar continued to weep as a voice spoke from somewhere deep within the cave, echoing through the dark. It was low like a mumble, like he was speaking through his teeth, like he was telling a secret. 

“Come on, park the car.” 

Armin moved once the voice spoke. He hopped over the slick stones and squeezed through tight gaps. In wonder, he lifted a single finger in the air and, once that single drop of water splashed against his skin, a spark of love for the natural world made his heart burst and he twirled in happiness. A second voice, this one feminine, had joined the first one. They moaned into the depths of the cave and the sound reverberated through its cracks and secret passageways. 

“Come on, park the car.” 

He halted upon the sight of the little monster among the rockslide. She was swaying back and forth, clutching her head in her hands. He could only imagine the horrendous thoughts drilling in her skull; what was she thinking exactly? Could he somehow ease the suffering she was putting herself through? 

His hand reached out to touch her shoulder, but her animalistic instincts sensed him there before he could do anything. Her head snapped back and he drew away, yet his eyes remained on her wild ones. In them was fear, confusion, anger, sorrow, dread. What a poor, sad creature was she. Who put you here in the dark? Who did this to you? 

He attempted to reach out to her again, but she fought back, mistaking his touch for a dagger. She pounced forward and he tried stepping back, but she grabbed a hold of his shirt in her hands and yanked him toward her. While the guitar sang its sad, sad song and the haunted voices sighed at its grief, Annie pulled down on Armin and bared her teeth at him while he held the sides of her troubled head, not knowing whether to push her away or mend the brokenness within her. 

He didn’t even realize that she had wrapped a leg around the back of his calf and jerked backwards—he was so focused on the sympathy that he had forgotten that she was perfectly capable of betrayal. She loosened her grip on him, but let her hands linger on his chest as he fell back and bumped his head against the cave’s wet floor. 

The hard thud of skin slapping against cool tile snatched him out of the dark cave and he knew he was back in reality once again. The duet breathed out the word “Fools” and when Armin opened his eyes with a small groan, he saw the theater’s ceiling of wires and ropes rather than the cave’s black abyss.   
Annie had noticed that he had fallen out of their world and, with her hands still on him, poked her head into his view with an angry scowl. Her hair brushed against his forehead and her steel fingers pushed into his narrow chest. 

“Don’t think, just feel,” she growled before withdrawing back into another land. 

He huffed, ignoring that dull ache on the nape of his skull. He laid his palms flat on the stage’s floor and then tumbled backward, landing on his feet once again. 

He looked up and found himself in a forest. Tall, slender trees touched the blue sky overhead and the branches swayed in the spring breeze. Dirt and fallen green leaves stuck to his hands and feet, but instead of hearing birds chirping or the rustling of bushes, he heard that lonely guitar and the man with a guarded voice. 

“Take what you want, your heart belongs to me.” 

He spotted Annie dancing among the trees, her open hands reaching toward the sky, her strong legs flicking at the crumbly dirt. The shrubs wiggled as she hopped in and out of them and her hand dragged along the rough bark of each tree she came across as if she longed to become one with the stillness, the quietness. She was too far away for him to see her expression and he wondered what exactly she was thinking. 

Like a cautious yet curious rabbit, he quickly approached the wandering lioness but came to a sudden halt each time she looked over her shoulder. He would blend into the green like a cloak or drop to the ground and entangle his limbs with the roots and worms as if he were some dead thing she left behind. She didn’t seem to notice, thus he continued on, hoping to catch a glimpse of this lost girl. 

When he was about six meters away, he pushed himself against a nearby tree, his spine flat against its chipped skin. Very slowly, he peeked around the corner on his right, but little did he know that she was hiding behind that very tree, doing the same thing as he. 

Her hand curled into his shirt again and his head whipped to the left. They locked gazes for a split second before she once again dragged him into a frenzied circle, except this time he expected her to lash out and had grabbed a hold of her jaw. If he was going to fall, then he’d make sure she’d follow after him. 

“Take all you want, your heart belongs to me.” 

Startled by the rough grip on her, Annie’s eyes widened and he could feel her teeth clench together. He leaned forward and she leaned back. The fear in her eyes then travelled to her legs as she tried spinning around and running the other way, but he wouldn’t let her go that easily. His fingers wrapped around her wrist—he never realized how tiny they actually were in his grasp—and pulled her back with a crude jerk he didn’t mean to do. Her bangs blew back and then fell in front of her eyes, and he could see a weak glare peeking through those lemon strands. 

She then resorted to physical strength, something she knew she overpowered him in. A concern from the real world poked at the back of his mind, but he tried his best to ignore it, instead focusing on the song playing from the heavens. A sad cry echoed from above and then the tempo picked up a little bit more, making it more intense. 

Her hands clamped down on his shoulders and, as swift as a snake, she attacked. Her thighs encircled his waist and she tried bringing them both down to the muddy ground with her weight. He caught her just as he felt himself being drawn toward the ground and then lifted her back up. She then untangled her legs, pointed them, and then brought them both on his left side. With his arms still wrapped firmly around her torso and hers around his neck, he leaned back down and felt her legs move somewhere behind him, kicking at the air. He smiled to himself. The move reminded him of some energetic swing from the 1950s. 

His spine then snapped back up and he spun around, her legs still curled around his spine like how a koala would lock itself onto a stick of bamboo. It had been done time and time again when a boy literally sweeps a girl off her feet and spins her like a merry go round, smiles wide as a wave of happy reunion takes hold of their hearts. But this was no fairy tale. This endless circle they threw themselves into was confusing and didn’t seem to stop anytime soon. The sad strings of the guitar and the occasional unhappy moaning told them that this was a fight for their lives, and the casualties could be their hearts and souls. 

Annie flung out her legs and her bruised feet landed flat on the forest floor, bringing them both to a stop. Her bun had sagged a bit more and he could see the faintest color of pink bloom across her cheeks, her chest rising and falling with each strained breath she took. But the glare, that piercing look, was still there. Faith was a long way from whatever was happening here. 

She circled him and he her, both like cats waiting for the right moment to strike. He was so concentrated on those eyes and what she might do next that he failed to recognize the change of scenery until they joined hands and she leaned back, so far that the loose strands of her hair almost touched the ground. 

They were inside an abandoned building of some kind, one with wide halls and void of any furniture. Bright white snow covered the ground and was coming in through the vacant doors and windows. Shades of white and grey were the only colors present (excluding themselves, of course) and he saw gusts of wind scatter the flakes of snow across the concrete floor and through the air, but he felt no chill prick at his exposed skin. 

“Skin white as a dove.” 

As if on cue, Annie snapped back up and it was then that Armin realized how unusually pale her flesh was. It was perhaps a shade darker than the piles of snow surrounding them. They locked gazes; her face was so close to his that he could feel the warm blast of air she was panting push against his hair. Her eyes, he noticed, were a unique color of blue. They were like glaciers floating in the ice-cold ocean, waiting for some indestructible thing to come along and crumble at her feet. They were like bolts of lightning flashing across the pitch-black sky, sharper and more damaging than any other arrow, gun, or dagger, but all the more fascinating to watch. They were like the bright reflections on fish scales or coral reefs from the blinding sun through the water’s surface. And, much like the things that swam beneath the sea, they were mysterious and captivating. 

“Eyes blue as our love.” 

Annie withdrew with a rapid turn. She then spread her arms and kicked up a leg. Her toes and fingers were pointed like knives and she kept a straight face. She danced like this harsh winter wind in this old, abandoned warehouse. She couldn’t relax; there was something she came here for. What was in that cave? Who brought you here to this brutal frame of mind? 

Armin frowned and tried copying Annie’s movement. He spun once, held his leg up over his head, and stood as rigid as a magnolia tree. He glanced over at Annie and noticed her subtle glare. He smirked, mockingly. I can be as cold as the wind, too. 

She paused before dropping her leg and sliding to the left, further away from him. He did the same thing, only he scooted closer to her. As if for good measure, she reached over and grabbed his shoulders once more. She lifted herself effortlessly onto his back and he could feel her weight shift between his shoulder blades as if she were punching away the snowflakes flying in. She then landed onto a heap of snow the other side of him and waited for his reaction. 

Instead of performing some swift or intense move, Armin shook his bangs out of his eyes and slipped in a little smile. He widened his arms and began twirling. He let his arms flutter like a bird and his legs move across the fluffy snow as if he were walking in the air. He could feel Annie’s eyes on him, but he didn’t let her confused judgement sink in. Despite the wintery shadows looming over them, he danced like they were somewhere warm and sunny. 

Once the idea flashed across his mind, he took hold of her hips and hoisted her into his world. 

“Take all you want, your heart belongs to me.” 

He could feel the passion in his heart once he heard the sound of gentle waves lapping nearby. He felt the slimy shore squish between his toes and the warm water lick at his ankles. He could smell the salt waft up his nostrils and the sun peck at his peachy skin (he’d most likely burn like a marshmallow, but he didn’t care). 

Annie, who was still in his arms, peered up at the bright sky and then reached hesitantly for the sun. Her hand wasn’t as directed this time; her fingers slowly wiggled at the blue atmosphere as if it were an old friend. With a smile still spread wide across his lips, he set her back down, grabbed both her hands, and then spun them around like a mini tornado. 

He watched her watch him a little cautiously, but the ice melting in those dazzling blue orbs of hers and the slight grin tugging at her lips was too much to hide. He laughed despite it all. He felt his hair brush against the corner of his mouth and the wind ripple against his shirt. Freedom sparked in his chest and it bubbled in his throat, shooting up into the warm sun like a firecracker. This form of openness was contagious—Annie squeezed her eyes shut and let out a shriek of laughter, unable to contain this powerful spark. 

They spun and spun until Armin felt his head twirl faster than his legs. They stumbled to a stop, catching their breath, regaining their sense of steadiness. The warm water swallowed his ankles and then dragged itself backward; it continued doing this until he could feel his feet shape into the muddy sand. He looked down at Annie and she looked up at him. She took a hesitant step closer; only a couple inches separated them. 

“Take all you want, your heart belongs to me. Take all you want, your heart belongs to me.”

Her heavy breathing pushed against his lips and chin and the ends of his hair. She smelled like salt (or was that the ocean?) and he watched a fat bead of sweat roll down the side of her temple. His eyes constantly flicked from her lightning blue eyes to her pink petaled lips. She was confused and scared, he could tell. All that time alone in that dark cave, in that cold snowstorm must’ve stole the innocence and brightness all children are born with. Growing up in lonely solitude could do horrible things to you, but it was never too late, he knew. She could be born again in the lovely deep woods, in the gentle sea. 

He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against hers. She wobbled under the weight of this knowledge and swayed from side to side, trying to regain her composure. He swayed with her, foreheads still pressed together. The music sprinkling from the sky churned and became heavier like rain. Drums, violins, guitars interrupted one another in a jumbled yet oddly in sync rhythm. It pounded in Armin’s ears and he could feel his body pulsing faster, moving with the beat. Annie moved faster too. He could feel her eyebrows crinkle as she tried to understand that she could live for herself, that she didn’t have to feel so alone. 

The music stopped for a split second and then, the next thing he knew, rain poured from the sky and the sound of gongs erupted the hair-raising silence.   
Annie suddenly jerked from him and his eyes opened again. He saw her snow-white figure glowering at him amid the new darkness they now stood in. Red rain drenched her body and emptied from the darkened heavens. His bones were just as soddened as hers; he could see the red droplets oozing from his bangs. He couldn’t see pass the surrounding darkness, just her and the blood. 

Swift as a whip, Annie lunged toward him, claws raised. In defense, he raised his too. While hers wrapped around his throat, his framed her face. A tiny gasp escaped him once he felt her fingernail gently graze over his Adam’s apple. It sent a pleasurable tremble down his spine. He smoothed his hands over her dampened hair and she reeled her head back, exposing her strong white and red neck. Oh, how he wanted to sink his teeth into her flesh and rip her apart.

“Killer as you are.” 

The sirens from above knew where this was going and quickened the rhythm, adding sharper notes. Annie took that as her cue to sharpen her moves and make the ballet a bit more intense (as if it weren’t already). She latched herself onto him with her hands still on his throat. Her knees pushed against his biceps and he quickly went to cup her thighs to keep her steady. But she was too quick; he couldn’t catch her weight quite right. He at least tried holding onto her as he stumbled back and crashed onto the ground below. 

Instead of splashing into bloody puddles, he felt the slick, hard floor of the high school stage catch his fall. A dull pain blasted into his shoulder blades and the back of his head, and the sound echoed through the auditorium amid the oracle of a song. He groaned slightly, trying not to let the ache settle too deeply. His eyes peered up at Annie hovering over him. The blood was gone and he could see the harsh white lights above her, but her eyes were wild, still stuck in the place that she literally knocked him out of. 

He opened his mouth to apologize, but she was off of him in an instant. His eyes followed her to the side. He watched her body jerk around like something deep and malicious was inside of her, prying its way through. She clawed at her skin, scratching frantically, trying to clean herself of the blood she spilled. 

But you’re not the only monster here, Lady Macbeth. 

When he turned back to the bright white lights above, he was back in the darkness. He felt the rain pelt him like bullets and the puddles beneath him soak his skin. The stains would never wash off, he knew. 

He took a deep breath and rolled onto his stomach. His palms plunged into growing red puddles near his shoulders. The blood was warm, fresh. He lifted his legs into the air and then brought them back down in front of him, so that he could see that back of his knobby ankles. 

He paused before raising his upper body off the ground and straightening himself up a little; his body was now formed in an upside-down U. He could feel the muscles straining in his biceps and neck, and he tried not to let the slight trembling in his arms sink into his brain. Feel, don’t think. 

Annie’s feet moved in the corner of his vision as he crawled backwards, splashing more puddles as he went. There was no use in trying to cover himself from this guilty rain. Despite the lovely greenery and sunny beach that he lived in, there was still the crashing of trees in terrible storms and great mysterious creatures dwelled deep beneath the ocean’s shore. Nothing was innocent, nothing was safe from harm. So, he thought, might as well let the blood slide. 

She didn’t want to be a part of it, obviously. Something in her sharp kicks and jumpy movements told him that she knew she was just as monstrous as him, but that didn’t mean she wanted to see blood spilt. She kept grabbing at herself and whipping her head from side to side as if she could actually do something about it. Tiny groans escaped her, little whisperings that could’ve easily come from the song thundering down on them if one didn’t pay close attention. 

That was the thing with Annie, wasn’t it? You had to pay close attention. 

He stopped crawling around like a cockroach with its head cut off when Annie slowly curled into herself and stuck her head in her hands again, mumbling to herself. Using what little strength he had in his stomach, he removed his hands from the ground and unfurled his spine, now looming over Annie’s huddled form. He felt bad for her; his heart ached at the sight of her. Taking responsibility for the unknown, letting all this blood define her. That’s not who she was. 

He gentle took hold of her wrists and pulled them away from her face. She peered up at him like he was the sun (how mistaken was she). Her eyes went to his fingers and then back at his eyes. She then slowly slipped her hands through his grasp and reached for the edge of his bloodied T-shirt. He didn’t stop her; he didn’t have anything to hide. He let her lift his shirt over his head and drop it at her side. 

“I know who you are.” 

His fingers lightly traced the hem of her top, but he didn’t advance. Yes, he knew who she was, but it was her decision to whether or not openly unveil herself. He lowered onto his knees back into the blood just as she reached down again. His fingertips delicately traced down her thighs with his forehead pressed against her bare stomach. He felt something brush over his head and he looked up. 

The blood that once drenched her was gone. The unhappy scowl was gone as well. In fact, the darkness had lightened up some, but it wasn’t as bright as the beach. Instead, the sky was smoky grey and he felt something skinny and light tickle at his naked back. They were somewhere else now; the song had taken another turn. But the greatest change was the somewhat satisfied look that casted over Annie’s eyes. She was as bare as him and her soul was beautiful. 

“Take all you want, your heart belongs to me.” 

The ghosts continued to sing in the clouds as Annie cupped Armin’s face in her warm hands and lean down. He noticed her left leg lift up as she did so, straight as a lamppost. Her lips, so soft and gentle, pressed against his forehead and he breathed a sigh of relief into her neck. It felt like a gust of wind or a refreshing drink from a river: it was nice and sweet, and he already missed it when she slowly withdrew. 

He observed her step back into the field of wheat they were surrounded in. Behind her was the edge of a cliff that went down as far as God knows what. He looked back up and noticed slender tree branches sway in the cool wind, green with spring. A low light then flashed somewhere in the ash clouds above them, but he didn’t hear the thunder, only the rapid strumming of a guitar. 

“Take all you want, your heart belongs to me.” 

Annie twirled around the tree like a ballerina. Her legs were strong and pointed like arrows, but she fluttered her arms with a sort of gracefulness like butterfly wings. He got back on his feet and watched her spin for a while, a slight smile tugging at his lips. Her eyes would occasionally meet his during her twists and he could see something in them that wasn’t there before. It was purposeful and strong, whatever it was, and it captured his attention entirely. 

She then reached out her hands and he automatically took them. Her concrete legs kicked at the air behind her and the sky lit up with another burst of lightning. He felt a tightness in his hands as she pulled him into the field of wheat. He burst into a wide grin as the cool breeze flew through his hair and chilled his skin. It reminded him of Annie’s kiss. 

They ran their fingers through the soft wheat in their dances and tried aiming their kicks as the same time as the lightning. Armin enjoyed spreading his arms and feeling the wind rush through him while Annie swayed to the side, her eyes locked on him. Slowly she tiptoed behind and shyly spread her own wings. When he looked back at her, he had the gift of seeing her own wide smile and hear a tiny giggle being tossed out into the sky. 

“Take all you want, your heart belongs to me.” 

He moved back and plucked her off the ground and held her up. Her arms waved like the gentle roll of the seashore and when he lowered her back down with her spine to his chest, she wrapped them around the back of his neck, her fingers playing with the ends of his hair. Smiling into her sweaty bun, he brought up his hands to trace the muscles in her biceps, but, like sand, she slipped from his grasp. 

Her hands never left him, though. She outlined at his collarbone, down his thorax, around his hips, up his spine. She circled him like a curious cat and he tried catching her, stroke her shoulders or run his fingertips through the hair on her arms. But she was slippery and avoided each of his attempts with the ease of water. So, he waited until she came to him. 

Eventually she faced him again and lifted a leg by his side. He took his role and secured it against his hip. She did the same thing as before: circle him while caressing his body, but now he was holding onto her as she slithered around and over him like a snake in an apple tree. Was she the same girl he found in that lonely cave? The one who scratched at him if he so dared take one step her way? If so, then wasn’t it funny to see how far a little bit of care went? 

Her feet touched the ground again and she pulled him back into another ballet. The music still played fast and the lightning would strike more often now. They pushed through the wheat with quick steps, matching the same pace as the song. They hardly separated during this routine; Armin could feel the sweat dampening the edge of Annie’s sports bra. Their faces were so close; he felt her warm pants blow against his mouth. He didn’t know how long they were like that, flying with the sky, and the thought didn’t even register that he couldn’t see out of his peripheral vision to see where exactly they were going. The ethereal sighs from the grey heavens switched from gentle whisperings to low shrieks. It was like they were dancing somewhere between a beautiful lie and a harsh truth. 

With one foot placed firmly between his own and one hand interwoven with his right one, Annie then flew herself backward and let her weight drop with her. It happened so fast that he could only understand what actually happened once it was over. He squeezed her hand tightly and swung her limp body to the side. Her head was thrown back; he could see her pale throat and pointed chin and the tip of her sharp nose. And then he saw the all the piercing rocks that laid at the bottom of the cliff that Annie dangled off from, he being her only foothold. 

Lightning flashed and then he saw her swopping by the orchestra pit in the high school auditorium. Sudden fear crushed his heart but he didn’t let it show. Instead he held onto her for dear life and brought her back into the soft wheat behind them. 

Once she was back from the edge, she snapped back up and embraced him fully. He, still a little terrified, lifted her up into his arms and constricted her with the tension of a noose. He squeezed his eyes shut and then stumbled to the floor (the slick, black theater floor that is). The song continued to play from Annie’s speaker until it eventually faded away just like the way it faded in. 

They sat there for a while, he cross-legged and holding Annie by her shoulder blades, she laying in his lap while holding onto the back of his neck. They listened one another’s breathing, feeling each other’s heat radiate from their bodies. Again, Armin wasn’t aware of how long they sat there like that; he only spoke once his heart eased back into a regular beat. 

“Are you alright?” 

A confused pause. “Yeah?” 

“I could’ve dropped you.” 

“But you didn’t.” 

She wriggled out of his grasp and stood up. Her bare feet slapped against the floor (not a field of wheat, puddles of blood, or sandy shore—just smooth hardwood flooring) as she moved toward her chair. She plucked her phone up just as another song began playing, but she quickly shut it off before it could go any further. 

“Did you know where we were going?” he asked, still cross-legged in the middle of the stage. “Did you see the edge of the stage?” 

He looked down at himself and noticed the faint red claw marks across his chest and arms. His eyebrows scrunched together. Was all that Annie? He didn’t remember feeling her nails sink into his flesh like some cat stretching its claws after a long nap. He was only aware of the slight burning sensation now. Damn, music could be powerful. 

“No.” She glanced at him. “Did you almost drop me over the edge?” 

Nothing crossed over her face at the possibility of her crashing into the abandoned music stands and chairs at the bottom of the orchestra pit. No concern, shock, or oncoming betrayal. Nothing. 

His own eyes widened for her, feeling that familiar anxiety slide in between his rib cage again. “Yes.” 

“Oh.” She merely shrugged, her eyes drifting back to her phone. “Lucky you, I guess.” 

He groaned to himself and dragged a hand down his face. “We have to be more careful next time; one of us could get seriously hurt.” He rubbed the back of his head. There was no longer a dull ache, nor could he feel a bump rising anywhere. A good sign. 

He unfolded his legs and got on his feet, walking over to grab his shirt and Annie’s. He threw his over his head before Annie could see his chest and then handed Annie’s to her. She thanked him before taking a big swig of her water bottle. 

Water sounds really good right now. He strolled over to his chair and fished through his duffel bag. The room-temperature water felt refreshing in his sweaty, dehydrated state, so he took a few gulps. 

“So, what was it about?” 

Annie’s infamously blunt tone and emotionless stare caught him off guard. He finished swallowing and then stared back. “I’m sorry?” 

“The song. What was it about? What was…” She motioned the space between them. “…all of that?” 

He stared at that space, big as outer space yet close as lovers. He thought about what was said, where they went, what they did. The pushing away, the tearing of flesh, the throwing and catching. It felt real like he’d been there before, felt all of it before. Take all you want, your heart belongs to me. 

“Trust, I think.” He chewed the inside of his cheek. “And having the power to forgive.” 

She simply looked at him for a silent moment before eventually nodding her head. “Yeah, that’s what I thought too.” 

They didn’t say anything for a while. Annie set her water bottle on the ground and shrugged into her shirt. Armin watched her while nervously twisting the cap to his bottle. He felt like he should say something, to clarify something. But what? What was there to discuss? They were both in sync nearly the entirety of the song and the only real loss was him stumbling to ground twice because he didn’t conjure up all his strength in the nick of time. The twirl at the edge of stage scared the crap out of him, but, like she said, he didn’t drop her. Was there something else there? Or was everything strictly made for the dance? 

Before he could ask, Annie placed her phone back by her speaker, turned her back to him, and said, “Alright, let’s try that again.” 

He blinked. “What, repeat the same thing? All of it?” 

She looked back at him with a spark in her eye. “I trusted you last time and you forgave me for the things you saw. Let’s see if that’s still the case.” 

And so he followed her back.


	8. Lovely Day (alt-j)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I was inspired by The Last of Us to write this fic, specifically the total beauty of the animation and the landscaping of the game. Just seeing cities overrun with weeds and plants and all sorts of greenery leaves me in complete awe every time. Go check it out if you haven’t played the game—yes, it can be depressing as fuck, but have you seen animated giraffes going for a stroll across a deserted city? Ah, breathtaking.
> 
> Anyway, here’s alt-j’s Lovely Day. Catch ya on the flip side**

Shards of wood flew from her hands as she whacked the creature in front of her the fifth time in a row. Another screech erupted from its black mouth, but it still hadn’t lost consciousness. It turned its head at her and howled again, the sound resembling that of a rabid dog. But that’s what it was, wasn’t it? A rabid human being. 

It was in the second stages of infection, when it had lost all sense of awareness, who they were and what they were doing. Their eyes were glassy, stuck on Annie and the healthy smell running off her in fat beads of sweat. Dark blood drenched its figure from head to toe and its clothes were withered and torn. Annie spotted a golden band wrapped around its left ring finger and the faded red letters “Best Dad in the World” on its grey T-shirt. This person used to be someone, a husband and a father, but Annie wouldn’t be surprised if it ate its entire family. 

It’s in the second stage of infection, she reminded herself. It’s weak and hurt. Should be an easy kill. 

She tossed the shattered baseball bat to the side and pulled out her hunting knife from her back pocket. She then braced herself as the infected one ran up to her, unleashing a wild scream. 

She effortlessly sidestepped its messy attempt to grab her. It stumbled forward, but she caught it with the blade of her knife, sinking into the space between its eyes. It squealed in agony until she rammed the blade further in, its limbs dropping. She let the body fall and turned her attention to the other monstrous scream coming up behind her. 

Without another thought, she whipped around with a high kick, automatically assuming that the creature was taller than her (then again, who wasn’t?) The heel of her combat boot came in contact with a nose and a small cracking sound followed after it. Another stage-two infected, another easy kill. 

The body fell to the side; Annie hardly gave it any time to recover. She rammed her foot into its face again and, when that didn’t finish it, she stomped repeatedly on its flat smudge of a nose until it wasn’t moving and the sides of her shoes were coated in blood. 

She allowed herself to take two deep breaths before raising her head and looking around. Her eyes met the next problem at the same time she heard him shriek. 

Armin was lying on the floor at the back of the room with a stage-three infected towering over him. Annie’s eyes widened. Stage-three infected were a bigger threat—they had been infected for weeks. The disease inside them had grown outward, decorating their bodies with tiny fungi and blooming flowers. Their veins turned into leafy vines and their skin turned into a sickish grey concrete color. Their heads shaped themselves into a colorful blob that appeared something like a Venus fly trap, except without all the feathery teeth. Because of this, stage-three infected became blind, their eyes melted somewhere into the trap, and they would make a terrifying clicking noise to see where they were going or where something was located like bats. 

They dubbed them clickers and one was about to dive its claws into Armin’s neck. 

Annie scanned around her like a hawk searching for prey. Her eyes fell on Armin’s crowbar on the floor, blending into the grey counters of the cash register. She fumbled for the weapon and then sprinted across the room. The clicker’s throat reverberated with another set of searching snaps and its large head whipped in her direction when it heard her coming toward it. 

Perfect. 

Its clacking lips stopped abruptly when she swung the crowbar and smashed in its yellow mouth. Its weight tumbled backward and off of Armin, but that wouldn’t be enough, Annie knew. She straddled over the clicker and then rained blow after blow upon the creature. She soon became blind with rage at the thought of this fucker taking Armin’s life and her grip on the crowbar tightened. Her biceps were becoming sore and she could feel the warm spatter of blood sprinkle all over her. Her chest heaved with each strike, putting all her strength into this one abomination.

“Stop, stop, stop! You’re done, it’s done.” 

She felt Armin’s hands wrap around her arm; she hit one more time before rocking back onto her heels. She glanced to her left and saw his disheveled head of hair and wide blue eyes peering through his cracked glasses. Panting heavily, she looked down at the clicker below her. There wasn’t much to look at but the blackened brains and giant pool of dark fluids spreading out like wings. She waited for it to twitch, click, give some sign of life and, when nothing came, she breathed out and let herself slide off to the side. 

The crowbar clattered on the floor next to her and the only sounds that could be heard for a while were her and Armin’s heavy breathing. Annie decided to let him look around and see if the coast was clear; her eyes remained fixed on the pulped head of the clicker. She swiped the back of her wrist across her eyes and it came back in streaky reds. She could feel sweat rolling down her back and the bun on the back of her head sag like a wet mop. 

“Okay, I think we’re good,” Armin eventually breathed out. She could feel his eyes on her. “You wanna look around for supplies?” 

She hesitated before ultimately nodding. 

“Alright then.” He got onto his feet, walked around the dead clicker, and offered his hand down to Annie. She took it and when she was back on her feet, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. 

She focused on his breathing, pushing at her shoulder in big gulps. She pressed her chest against his and could make out the rapid beating of his heart. Her head burrowed into his green hoodie as she tried to calm herself down. Alive. He’s alive. 

She felt him sigh and then hug her back, arms locked around her ribs. He slowly swayed from side to side and she moved along with him. They stood there like that for some time before Armin mumbled in a pained whisper, “You’re hurting me, Annie.” 

She flinched back as if he burned her somehow. Her eyes stared at his right shoulder, expecting blood. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re fine.” He leaned down and plucked his crowbar off the floor and then wiped the shiny blood on his jeans. “I’m just not totally back on my feet   
yet.” When her eyes refused to leave his shoulder, however, he offered a half-smile and pecked her cheek. “Seriously, I’m fine. I promise.” 

Some time ago, Armin and Annie were scavenging for food in a set of dorm rooms of a university. They soon came across a group of other survivors who were immediately hostile toward them and began firing away with their seemingly endless supply of bullets. They were close to escaping their clutches when a large blond man, muscles as big as watermelons, ram himself into Armin and pushed him over the balcony on the second floor of the dorm apartments. He then landed on a wooden bench which broke under his weight and there he laid, surrounded by glass and with a large share of wood pierced through his shoulder. 

Running on pure rage and terror, Annie slaughtered the brute who knocked Armin over and anyone who got in her way. Once she came to him, she noticed that his gaze was stuck somewhere in the clouds and his hands clutched and unclutched near his chest, no doubt trying to find that wooden stake lodged in his shoulder. With other survivors still on their tails, Annie had no choice but to grab one of his hands and yank him out of the shattered bench. He let out a horrible groan as his blood poured out of his shoulder in rivers. Annie wrapped his good arm over the back of her neck and dragged him out of the university while shooting down all who dared to approach. 

She wasn’t sure how long ago that all happened, but it seemed like it was just yesterday. She spent months trying to bring him back to life—his chest was a terrifying shade of purple and black for the longest time and the puncture in his shoulder wouldn’t stop bleeding at times. She used any and all medication she could find on him and he slowly regained his strength over time. But he would complain about shoulder aches often and he couldn’t carry or pull much weight with his right arm (Annie carried the majority in her backpack versus his). So, whenever they’d go hunting around for supplies, medication and bandages were the first thing on Annie’s mind. 

Without saying anything, she waddled back to where the first infected had attacked her. The knife was still stuck in the middle of its face and she had to pull it out with two hard yanks. She smeared the blood on her ripped jeans, folded it, and put it in her back pocket. She noticed Armin slip the crowbar into his bulging backpack for easy access. 

They then wandered around the room in desperate search for supplies. 

While on their aimless quest for a safe destination, they came upon an old mall and figured that there ought to be something in there worth taking. Medication, of course, being on the top of the list, but weapons were always a problem too; things broke all the time and they needed range weapons such as guns or crossbows. It wasn’t a requirement, but Annie really wanted a change of clean clothes—she had worn the same sweaty, bloody shirt for a straight week now and the black jeans for even longer. But now they were on the second floor of the mall and it was the fifth store they walked into (all the other ones had a shiny silver door concealing them, locked from the inside) and they couldn’t salvage much. 

They stood in a music store of some sort. Vinyl albums were scattered all over the floor and covered wooden counters. A deep blue guitar hung on a wall behind a shattered glass pane; there were other empty slots lining the wall, where other musical instruments should’ve been. Music sheets and posters of long-forgotten bands littered around the registers (which were open and empty). Nearly all shelves outlining the room were bare. Glass, plastic, wood, and other common debris were also dispersed around the small room. 

Annie wandered over to the piles of music albums while Armin walked behind the registers. She crouched down and lightly shifted through the mess, careful not to cut herself with the million tiny pieces of glass. The glass crunched beneath her boots as she inched forward, but she didn’t find anything of use. She stood up and peered around a shelf. Nothing immediately popped out at her, but she did spot an album tilted awkwardly on the floor. She approached and kicked the album out of the way. 

There sat a small book, hardly damaged in any way. On the cover was a bright orange horse galloping across a field of yellow wheat. Below it were the words The Catcher in the Rye. She leaned down and picked it up. She wondered if Armin knew what this was. 

“Annie.” 

She glanced over her shoulder. Armin was stationed by the dead computer at the registers. He was fiddling with something in his hands and grinning up at her. He motioned for her to come over and she complied. 

Once she reached him, he wiggled a handgun and a box of ammunition in the air. “A 9mm Springfield handgun and a box of ammo,” he clarified. “Both are already filled.” 

Annie’s eyes widened in the slightest. “That’s a rare find.” 

“I know. Makes me a little suspicious.” 

He unloaded the magazine and showed Annie all the ammunition stuffed to the brim inside. It was the only little piece of treasure they were able to find thus far; Armin really hit the jackpot. 

“Where did you find that?” 

“Way back in this cabinet here.” He tapped his knee against said cabinet. “Makes me think someone placed it there not too long ago. Maybe someone else is here and had to leave in a hurry or something.” 

“Then they’re dumb for doing so. Bad place to stay and it’s even worse to leave your stuff behind.” 

Armin nodded in agreement and then clicked the magazine back into place. He offered both the gun and the box to her, but she shook her head. “You keep it.” 

“But I have a crowbar. All you have is a knife.” 

“I’ll be fine. Keep it.” 

Armin frowned at her but stuffed the box in his backpack and the gun in the back of his jeans. He gestured to the book in her hands. “Whatcha got there?” 

She looked down at the book and then handed it to him. “Do you know this?” 

He took it and examined its cover. He flipped through the blackened pages. “I’m afraid I haven’t, but looks like the owner of this book loved it. I’ll take a look at it.” 

Whenever she came across a book, she would typically give it to Armin. If he liked it, he kept it (though he only had three on hand right now—two in his backpack and one in hers), and if he didn’t, he placed it in a convenient place for another soul to find it like a kitchen table or a park bench. Reading brought him a kind of pleasure and if she could provide him with that in such a world as this, then she would pass along any book she could get her hands on. 

Her eyes travelled along his facial features. A splotch of purple circled his chin and a scar ripped through his right eyebrow. His hair, dry and dirty, tickled his jawline. Little dots of blood painted his right cheek, most likely from that clicker Annie butchered. A single zigzagged line settled in the corner left frame of his glasses, cutting his ocean blue eye in half. 

She leaned forward and slid his glasses off his round nose, studying them. Dirt was speckled all along the temples and she was surprised to find that all the necessary screws were still in place. 

“We need to find you new glasses.” 

Armin stuck out his bottom lip and shook his head as if that was the very last thing on his to-do list. “Nah, I can still see through them fine.” 

“Still, these can’t be comfortable for you.” 

“I’ll be fine.” He sent a charming smile her way. “Thank you for looking out for me, but I can take care of myself, too.” He held up the book. “And thanks for the gift.” 

She gave a tiny smile back and slid the glasses back onto his nose. As she did so, he leaned forward and press a light kiss to her lips. 

The two, after finding nothing more, left the music store (although a full handgun, box of ammo, and a book weren’t too bad of a find itself). They moved quietly yet slowly, making sure they weren’t leaving anything behind. Dirt, blood, and water stains coated the tiled flooring, weeds ran up the side windows, and the music of silence played endlessly in their ears. Annie found an abandoned suitcase tucked in a corner, but all that was in it were crumpled papers and a photograph of a richly dressed woman. Something crashed above them on the third floor—they stood frozen for some minutes, waiting for a cry or clicking sound, yet when nothing came, they both agreed to avoid going up the stairs. 

They rounded a corner and came across a tiny square box with a curtain on the side. Annie slowed to a stop and Armin perked up, advancing toward it. “Ooh, I think I’ve heard of these!” 

He analyzed the side of the box which was as tall as he. He then pushed the curtain to the side and a smile etched at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, these are called ‘photobooths’. People would sit in here and a camera would automatically snap, like, four or five pictures in row and then it would print out a copy of the pictures from…” He looked around and then tapped a little blue slot near the curtain. “From right here.”

“Didn’t people have phones with cameras in them?” Annie asked. “Or cameras in general? What’s the point of these?” 

“Just for fun, I guess.” He glanced at her, still smiling. “Wanna try it out?” 

She peered around them and Armin chuckled at her. “Are you embarrassed to be seen with me or what?” 

“I’m looking for clickers, smartass,” she hissed at him. 

“We’ll hear them before they hear us. Come on, it’ll be fun.” 

He stepped into the box without another word. She sighed, realizing that she wasn’t to get out of this one. She sauntered forward and peeked inside the booth. Armin, though small, sat cramped up on a smooth plastic bench, poking at the big, round buttons on a tiny screen. Huffing, she sat beside him and closed the dusty purple curtain behind her. 

“Okay, this should do it,” Armin muttered mainly to himself as he pressed another button. The screen flickered once, twice, and then it started to count down from five in big blocky numbers. 

Armin, pleased with himself that he got it work, shifted around in his seat and turned halfway toward her. He smiled widely at her stoic face. “I know you hate this, but bear with me for twenty seconds, okay?” 

“Whatever.” She faced the tiny camera installed above the screen and waited until the screen reached zero. 

For the first picture, she stretched her lips into her tight, toothless smile that she forced on for Armin’s sake. She sensed Armin lean his head against hers and imagined he was smiling brighter than the sun. A snapping noise echoed in the booth and then Armin shifted into another position. 

He pressed his face against her cheek, but he wasn’t kissing her or smiling into her skin. Just staring at her. With a frown, she pushed her palm against his mouth and reeled him back just as the camera snapped again. 

“Oh, come on!” he complained before quickly setting himself back into place. This time he looked back at the camera, tilted his head, and held up a simple peace sign. Feeling slightly amused, Annie decided to humor him and stick out her tongue at him. The camera snapped once again. 

Armin glanced back at her, catching her slip her tongue back between her lips like a snake. He laughed and then cupped her right cheek and smashed her other one with his lips, making an obnoxious kissing sound as he did so. Her lips puckered out like a fish in his grasp and she tried pulling away from him, but the camera was quick to capture the moment. 

The words “Thank you!” flashed across the screen after that. Annie wiggled out of his hold and stepped out of the photobooth, wiping his sloppy kiss off her cheek. 

“Thank you for being so brave!” Armin called from inside the box. “You willing to get your picture taken is like asking someone to dodge a bullet.” 

“Shut up,” she mumbled back, looking around the wide halls. Still no clicker. 

Armin popped out of the booth and plucked the black and white photos that darted out of the black hole in the side of the box. He held them up and Annie peeked over his shoulder at them. They were a bit blurry, but you could still plainly see two dirty blondes messing around with a camera. She scrunched her nose at herself. She was an absolute mess with large bags under her eyes and her hair matted with dark blood. Armin didn’t even tell her that a splash of red was sprawled across her face, starting near her hairline and curving down to her right cheekbone. 

“Aw, I’m keeping this forever,” Armin said, smiling down at the pictures. 

“You’re obnoxious,” Annie muttered, walking toward the staircase. 

“Love you too.” He folded the strip of photos and stuffed them into the side pocket of his backpack, opposite his crowbar. He caught up with her and then they headed out of the mall with their riches. 

The summer sun shone brightly in the afternoon sky, the hottest part of the day. Annie could see the heatwaves radiating from the black and green asphalt like wiggling translucent maggots. Tall buildings surrounded them, in the midst of being swallowed by Mother Nature. Just like clickers, the planet began taking back what was rightfully theirs and slowly began replacing civilization with greenery and vegetation. Grass poked out of every crack in the ground and olive green leaves ran up and down rusty structures and in and out of broken windows. Cars were rendered useless, their engines and tires covered in florals and shrubbery. The occasional tree grew through heavy fertilized roads and reached lengths as wide as semitrucks. 

A mix of smells lingered in the air. The humidity made all the rotting corpses stink worse than usual and Annie could smell her own body odor (she couldn’t remember the last time she took a shower). Flora floated through the air as well and it grew stronger with each gentle breeze that came their way. They waddled through large pools of water randomly gathered around the dead city, although it never got higher than Annie’s thighs. The water (made up of sewage, rainwater, and many kinds of bodily fluids) was warm and now sank into her boots and clung onto her skinny jeans, along with all the other crap that stuck to her like superglue. God, how she’d kill for a clean change of clothes. 

As far as they could tell, no other sign of life could be spotted throughout the empty city (besides the overgrowing plants, of course). All was silent, all was calm. No vicious growling, no terrifying clicks, no frantic gunshots. Quiet was nice from time to time, but it could also mean danger, so they decided to not stick around and keep trudging forward. They couldn’t trust anything, let it be a silent city or another survivor. There were too many risks; they had to question everything, never let down their guard. Annie sighed to herself. All the lovely days were gone now and had been swapped with slices of hell. 

Armin suggested that they head toward the suburbs, hoping there would be something of use there. They trekked onward for a considerable amount of time—it was always hard to tell what time was exactly. They measured time through events or seasons. Once upon a time, people could tell time through clocks and watches and cell phones, but all that stopped ages ago. What’s the use of knowing what date it was when each horribly long passing hour was the same? All Annie knew was that their legs were tensed in dull aches and the sun had lowered when they reached the suburbs, turning the sky into a pinkish hue. 

Their knuckles brushed against each other as they walked, their eyes taking in their surroundings. The tranquil neighborhoods weren’t much different from the city, except they could see pieces of the life that used to be here more clearly. Children’s toys sat out in the front yards, overturned and covered in moss. Grills and lawn chairs sat unused in backyards. A yellow sign with a black stick figure was planted in the ground with the words “Slow down, children at play” below it. Flags hung from porches, some decorated with bright colors and stars, others displaying some animal and its name underneath it (probably sports teams). 

They came across a white truck parked on the curb with an oddly shaped cone atop it. The bottom of the cone was the color of sand and the top was a bright swirly pink. Pictures were papered onto its sides, showing something similar to the giant cone on top of the truck. Annie pointed at it and asked, “What is that?” 

Armin scratched the back of his neck, studying the vehicle closer. “I think that’s an ice cream truck.” 

She raised an eyebrow. She heard of the frozen treat (she probably had it once or twice in her lifetime) but didn’t know there were trucks dedicated to the stuff. “A what?” 

“People, for jobs, would drive around neighborhoods and try selling ice cream. It would play creepy music sometimes.” 

She narrowed her eyes at him, and he threw his hands up in surrender. “I’m serious. Kids would go up to some stranger in a truck and have their parents buy ice cream for them while creepy music-box music blared from its speakers.” 

She frowned at the truck. “That’s the strangest thing I’ve ever heard.” 

Nevertheless, they left the truck alone and continued down the street. 

Armin pointed out a smaller house on their left, blue paint chipping off the sides and only one story high. Compared to the other houses, this one seemed in decent shape with only one broken window next to the front door and no remnants of infected or clickers tearing apart family members. They walked up the driveway and Armin tried the doorknob. Locked, as usual. 

He huffed and then glanced to the window on their left. “I can climb in through there and unlock the door.” 

Annie’s shoulders tensed up. She hated whenever they split up, even if it was only for a moment, but she reminded herself that Armin wasn’t an idiot and wouldn’t wander around the house before unlocking the door two feet to the side. She swallowed any objection pricking at the tip of her tongue and took out the crowbar from his backpack. 

“Clear the glass at least,” she mumbled. Armin stood back while she circled the bar around the window, knocking off the rest of the sharp edges sticking out like shark’s teeth. They did a quick sweep down the street to see if anything heard them and, when nothing came, she stuffed the crowbar back into Armin’s backpack. 

“Be careful,” she told him as he grabbed the edge of the windowsill. 

“Always,” he responded. He hoisted himself through the small opening, glass crunching underneath his weight on the other side. 

She hurried back to the front door and waited for him to hear the clunking sound from the other side. One moment passed, and then another, and then another. Her lips pursed in anxiousness and she tasted the all-too-familiar flavor of iron blubbing across her tastebuds. She was about to stick her head through the window when the knob twisted slightly and the door creaked open, a pleased Armin standing on the other side. 

“This place isn’t as bad as other places we’ve stayed at,” he said. 

She stepped through the doorway and he closed the door behind her. Her gaze swept the living room and was surprised to find it relatively clean. The only sources of disarray were an unidentified stain on the floor near the TV and crooked picture frames hanging on the wall. An armchair and sofa were turned askew, and a smashed coffee mug covered the table by the small TV. A black bookshelf was positioned on the opposite wall, although homey nick-nacks like clocks and portraits littered its shelves rather than actual books. 

Armin and Annie ventured into the kitchen across the way. Not much chaos in this room either. Armin opened up cupboards and found plenty of dishes, but not a lot of food (he did manage to find, however, a family-sized box of cereal and two cans of beans). He also opened the fridge but shut it immediately when the strong smell of spoiled milk and rotten meat wafted out. 

“Ugh, electricity is out,” he coughed. 

Annie flipped on the faucet in the kitchen sink and was delighted to find a cool splash of clean water burst through the valve. She grinned back at him. “But we have water.” 

Armin smiled back. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in quite a while.” 

They then proceeded to fill up their stainless-steel water bottles up and chug it down and fill it up again. Not having to worry about saving water for when absolutely necessary was one of the best feelings in the world, according to Annie, and the sensation of cold liquid running down her throat was a close second. 

They scoped out the rest of the house and discovered all sorts of other rare valuables: clean clothes in the bedroom, a bottle of shampoo in the bathroom, a pair of scissors in the kitchen, washcloths in the closet, an unopened pack of batteries underneath the bed. Annie thought for a while that this was trap, all these little specks of gold tucked into the same place would make good capture, so she tracked down any running cameras or possible boobytraps. Armin ceased her desperate hunting, saying that they’ve spotted no other survivors ever since they stepped into the neighborhood, in fact the whole city. 

“I feel really good about this place,” he added. “I think we should stay here for the night.” 

She frowned, still not entirely convinced. 

“It’s better than most, you’ve got to admit. And we can’t stay out at night—it’s always more dangerous at night.” He shrugged. “And I’m giving you permission to shoot me if I’m wrong.” 

She rolled her eyes, but if he was saying stuff like that, then he must’ve felt confident in these four walls and the ceiling over their heads. Armin wasn’t wrong about most things. She eventually nodded and she helped him move the bookshelf in front of the open window (in case any clickers decided to waltz right in).

He grinned. “Great. I’m going to take a shower.” He then lumbered down the hall and entered the bathroom on the left. In another moment, she heard a waterfall running. 

Annie collapsed onto the sofa, a deep sigh escaping her lungs. She stared at the motionless fan hanging from the ceiling for a bit before sitting up and removing her boots. Her toes were still damp from sauntering through the sewage water earlier and the sides of her feet were bright red from being cramped up in those boots for days at a time. She rotated her feet around in circles, her ankles clacking like old gears turning. 

She scrunched her nose. She could not wait her turn for a shower she’d been craving for weeks now. 

Slipping out of her heavily stained tank-top and unbuttoning her pants, she marched toward the bathroom. She opened the door and noticed Armin’s clothes littered around the floor and his glasses resting atop the sink. The shower curtain was still pushed to one side and she saw Armin leaning his forehead against the slick tiled walls, letting the cool water wash down his scarred body. 

“I knew you’d be standing there, doing nothing,” Annie muttered as she tossed her tank-top with his clothes and wriggled out of her sticky jeans. 

Keeping his forehead attached to the wall, he turned his head toward her, peeking through his sodden blond fringe. “I knew you wouldn’t even give me two minutes in here.” 

“It’s a shower, Armin. It’s like the fountain of youth: you can’t keep that to yourself.” 

She stripped off the rest of her smelly, stained, and soaked clothes onto the floor and undid the rubber-band that held together her bun of the back of her head (her dirty, clumpy hair still stayed in place for a moment or two, anyway, as if she never took it out). She then stepped into the tub, knocked against Armin, and felt the satisfying rush of water drown the mud and blood. 

\--- 

She awoke to the sound of thunder and the rain patting against the windowpane like bullets. 

She jolted, her eyes darting around the room. Where am I? What’s going on? She then remembered that she was in a little suburban house, safe enough to sleep in. She was lying in the master bedroom and it was as dark as the midnight sky. Apparently, there was a storm brewing outside; she could see a light shadow spread across the bedsheets with little dots inching down—the rain on the window. 

She frowned into the pillow and clutched at the bedsheets tighter. She absolutely loathed thunderstorms. It was one thing she couldn’t control—she couldn’t stop the earth and the sky from acting on its own. It wouldn’t go away with the stab of a knife, the bullet of a gun. And the earth was a powerful thing; it could crush her if it tried hard enough. 

Her eyes then flew wide open. Where’s Armin? 

She sat up and looked around the room. He wasn’t beside her in bed nor tucked in a darkened corner nor standing by the broad dresser by the door. She noticed his unzipped backpack leaning against the wall on her side of the bed, but no other sign of him could be spotted anywhere in the room. 

Another bright crack of lightning flashed through the room and the thunder’s scream soon followed. She flinched again and quickly crawled out of bed and hurried toward the door. 

Wearing only a pair of underwear and an oversized university shirt, she slithered out of the room as quietly as she could. The living room was two or three steps to the left and she still didn’t see Armin. She whispered his name, but it would be impossible to hear that over the sound of pouring rain right outside the window he snuck in earlier that day. Like a sneaky spider, she stuck close to the wall and tiptoed further in, looking to round the corner that lead to the kitchen. 

Her eyes stayed glued to her toes and only looked up when absolutely necessary. She casted a quick glance toward the covered window in the living room—rainwater had leaked in around the bookshelf and left a large stain along the wall and floor. It didn’t appear terribly windy outside, and Annie was thankful for that. 

Once she reached the wooden threshold, she gripped it tightly and peeked into the room. A wave of relief washed over her when she found him sitting at the kitchen table, wearing black sweatpants and a white T-shirt. He was in deep concentration of whatever he was doing. She peered closer. Using the dim light of the moon, he took apart the scissors they found earlier and was wrapping the blades around a long piece of wood with duck-tape that Annie kept in her backpack. She spotted one of the kitchen chairs lying on its side, now missing a leg. 

She swallowed. “A-Armin?” 

He looked up. His eyes were incredibly wide for second, but they blinked in relief when he realized it was her. “Hey.” 

“What are you—?” She was cut off by another brilliant clash of lightning and thunder. The house rumbled in response, the small chandelier hanging over the table trembling at it did so. A tiny squeak erupted from her as she fell to the floor and grabbed the chair with three legs, as if that would protect her in any way. 

She heard Armin drop his makeshift weapon on the floor and hurry across the kitchen floor toward her. “Hey, it’s okay, you’re okay. We’re safe in here. It’s just some thunder, it’ll pass eventually. Everything’s alright.” 

He took hold of her arm and hand, trying to unlock her grasp on the chair. Once his touch—his gentle, warm, sincere touch that she alone lived for—settled on her skin, she snapped like a rubber-band and latched herself onto him. She clawed at his shoulder blades and used all her weight to bring their bodies close together; Armin nearly toppled on top of her but luckily caught himself just in time. 

“Hey, okay, let’s go back to bed,” he tried again, speaking directly into her ear so she could hear him over the sound of surging rain and her own panicked breaths. “Everything’s fine, everything’s fine.” 

She let him half-carry, half-drag her out the kitchen, through the living room, and into the master bedroom. She blew heavy breaths into his collarbone and every time a crack of thunder echoed throughout the house, she cringed into his narrow chest, her jaw clenched, her arms tight. Armin, a bit distracted, mumbled some more “Everything’s alright” and “We’re almost there” under his breath as he struggled to keep her from slumping to the ground. This wasn’t the first time she’d panicked over a thunderstorm. 

Once they reached the bedroom, Armin half-turned and locked the door behind them. He then pushed back the crumpled covers on the bed and dropped Annie in the middle of it. She kept her lock tight on him, though, and he ended up going with her, collapsing on top of her. He muttered a “Shit, okay” into the soft bedsheets and then sat back up, crawling around so that his back faced the one window in the room, so she wouldn’t have to see the blinding white crack flash across the pitch black sky. 

He then twisted around so that their heads were upon the dark blue pillows and then pulled back the covers over them. He plucked his glasses off and set them on the nightstand beside the bed. She felt his arms wrap around her again, smoothing her back and brushing back her strands of hair. 

“The storm can’t hurt us in here,” he murmured like she was a five-year-old, afraid of the monster under the bed. “It’ll pass eventually.” 

Another round of lightning and thunder, but it wasn’t as loud as the last couple of times. Yet she still cowered into his chest, tugging at his shirt and concealing her face into his neck. He laid a hand across one of hers, near the side of his shoulder. 

“Okay, ease up on the grip a little, please.” 

Reluctantly she obeyed, burying deeper into the sheets like a mole in a garden. A few moments had passed of rain hammering away at the window and Armin planting gentle kisses along her hair, cheek, jaw, and neck. When she felt her throat open up in the slightest, she managed out between raspy breaths, “I fucking hate this.” 

Armin’s hand came to a rest at her hip, his thumb lightly digging into her side. “Storms can be scary sometimes.” 

“No, I mean all of this. I fucking hate all of it.” She pulled her face out of the sheets and rested the top of her head against the side of Armin’s neck. “We were born into a world of survival. We can never just relax or act like how things were before the world went to shit decades ago. We can’t go shopping in a mall or chase after a creepy ice cream truck or go to a bookstore or do anything that doesn’t require fighting for your life. I hate this life, this world. Nothing good exists anymore. There’s no good people, no good days. There’s nothing but blood. I fucking hate it.” 

A silent sea drowned them both for a while, filling up with all the rain pounding outside. She could tell that Armin was thinking of what to say by the way his touch slowed down and his body went stiff. She let out a little sigh. She shouldn’t have said anything. 

He then moved around some more, tucking an arm underneath her head and placing his chin in his palm as he stared at the grey wall behind her. “Well,” he said in his light argumentative voice, “I think there are some good days in this world.” 

She frowned into his chest, but he couldn’t see her expression, so he went on: “Like today was pretty good. You found that book for me and we took some pictures in a photobooth and we saw an ice cream truck, even if the idea of it is kinda strange.” He chuckled. “And we found this relatively nice home and we found a working shower and a change of clothes—I know you’ve wanted those for a while—and we found some food and other useful things. I’d say it was a pretty good day.” 

“We’re still not living, though.” 

He sighed. “Well, no, I guess not. But in a world like this, it’s typically the little things that keep you going. Yes, people are harsh, but they’re just like us, looking to survive. We’re all different but all the same.” He paused and then added, “The world is cruel, but beautiful. You just have to look a little harder to see the beauty.” 

She snorted sarcastically. “What beauty could there possibly be?” 

“Well, you, first things first.” 

She mentally shook her head, half-tempted to dig her finger into the hole in his shoulder. Either he wasn’t receiving the annoyed vibes from her or he was completely ignoring them because he then smiled into her forehead and said, “Every day with you is a lovely day.”

“Okay, I’m done,” she grumbled, rolling onto her back and away from him. 

“Why are you so mean to me?” Armin laughed, shuffling closer to her like a curious yet persistent kitten. 

“I’m done. Get off of me.” Suppressing a smirk, she shoved his face away and rolled onto her side. 

He followed her, tucking his head under her chin and shaking like a wet dog, his soft locks tickling her skin. “Annie,” he whined with the voice of an old toy, low on batteries yet still able to make jerky movements. She couldn’t contain the giggles that bubbled in the back of her throat. 

They spent the rest of the stormy night tickling each other, telling jokes, and talking about the near future before sleep eventually overtook them. 

\---

Annie was awoken again later, but this time sunshine streamed in through the window and the sound of footsteps and muffled voices replaced the booming thunder. 

Her eyes peeled open and first landed on Armin sleeping soundly beside her, his lips opened ajar and his arm stretched out beneath her head. She glanced at the closed bedroom door and waited for more noises to rumble, just in case it was her own dreaming that woke her up. But within seconds she heard heavy boots clank across hardwood flooring and masculine voices talk over one another. 

Slowly she sat up in bed, her gaze locked on the door, her heartbeat already picking up speed. She listened closely but most of what the intruders said was muffled. She half-wished it would’ve been a clicker—at least those things couldn’t think of plans. She did, however, managed to catch “This place seems nice” and “Where did you learn to pick locks?” 

At that last remark, she whispered a long “Shit” under her breath and then turned to Armin. She laid a gentle hand over his open mouth and whispered his name into his ear. His eyelids fluttered and then shot open in fright, most likely freaked out by her face so close to his, seeing only one wide blue eye and her blonde hair spilling around him, shielding them like a curtain. She then whispered that someone came into the house. The fear in his eyes didn’t subside. 

She pulled away and he slowly sat up. He shoved his glasses onto his face and quietly shuffled through his backpack. Annie cursed herself. She recklessly left her backpack in the living room; she was weaponless. 

She tiptoed around the bed and squatted beside Armin on the floor. “My backpack is out there,” she said quietly. 

Armin tried not to show his frustration, but instead handed her his crowbar. “Take this.” 

She nodded her thanks. They both stood and snuck up to the door with Annie by the doorknob and Armin by the hinges with the handgun in his hands. Their eyes switched from the wooden panels in the door to each other’s rattled stare as they listened to their visitors wander around the house. 

“Someone’s been here recently,” said a deep voice. 

“Guess we should be extra careful,” replied another, another masculine tone. 

Footsteps clacked around for a while before a feminine voice shouted out, “Hey, guys! Look at this weird thing I found!” 

“What is that?” 

“It’s like a baseball bat, but with scissors on the end.” 

Annie saw Armin shake his head at himself when realization dawned on him. 

“You gotta be sick-minded to come up with something like that,” remarked the deep voice. 

“Right?” 

As soon as the last comment was made, the doorknob to the bedroom began shaking. Armin and Annie stared down at it in shock, holding their breaths. 

“Ugh, great,” muttered the voice on the other end. A pause and then, “Hey, Connie. There’s another locked door here.” 

“I got you, bro,” replied another voice. 

Sparks of dread exploded from her heart like the tossing of a log into a campfire. She looked up at Armin who gave a gestured glance at his crowbar in her hands. She nodded and held it up, ready to strike once the door creaked opened. Armin also readied his gun, though his hands trembled slightly. 

The man on the other side, Connie, fiddled with the locked doorknob while whistling to himself. Though it must’ve been only seconds, it felt like eons to Annie, just waiting for the fight to come to them. She watched the lock click back into place and twist and then the door creak backward. 

“Here we g—wah!” 

Connie tumbled back as Annie slammed the crowbar down, narrowly missing his big head by a few inches. The end dug into the carpet, but Annie ripped out of the floor no problem. Connie shot up from the ground and Annie swung again. He ducked just in time and now the crowbar was stuck in the bedroom door. Chips of wood flew out and this time it wasn’t as easy to pull out. 

“Wah, ah! Crazy lady, crazy lady!” Connie, a short, ratty-looking man, called out in panicked shouts. He held up his little lock-picking tool at her—which really appeared to be a tiny version of a corkscrew—and Annie took her opportunity. She left the crowbar in the door and then rammed herself into the man’s small torso. The corkscrew went flying back, and so did they, landing hard on the living room floor. 

“Gah! G-Guys! Help me—” Connie’s desperate cries were cut off by Annie moving up and wrapping her arms around his neck and her thighs around his torso. Her ankles crossed themselves at the center of his ribcage and began digging themselves into his lungs and vocal cords, squeezing the life out of him. He choked out nonsense, weakly slapping at her calves and grabbing at wrists. 

Annie heard thunderous footsteps coming her way. She looked up to find a tall, slender man with long sandy hair pulled back into a tight ponytail with a rifle across his torso run toward her from the kitchen. Fire was in his eyes and he pulled back his foot, ready to kick her in the head. 

“Get off him, you bit—!” 

A small explosion sounded throughout the house and, distracted, the man lost his footing and ended up ducking his head. A powdery white dust sprinkled onto Annie and Connie’s face, and it was then that Annie knew Armin had shot off his gun. 

The ponytailed man whipped toward Armin by the opened bedroom door. Annie looked at him too—like a frightened rabbit, he stared wide-eyed at the mess before him, his gun trembling in his grasp. The man fidgeted with his rifle and then pointed it at Armin. 

“Put the fucking gun down, wimp!” he shouted. He periodically switched his aim from Armin’s head to Annie’s on the ground, Connie still feebly struggling in her grasp. 

“You put yours down!” Armin hollered back. “We can talk this out still!” 

“Talk what out, you piece of—” 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” 

Suddenly another tall, dark-haired man popped into the room, sliding from between the wall and door from down the hall. Armin jumped in surprised and then pointed the gun at him, which only angered Ponytail more. They all argued over one another, demanding that the other put his gun down. Annie’s gaze peered between Ponytail’s legs and into the kitchen. In the shadows, she spotted a girl with Armin’s makeshift weapon in her hands. She too had a ponytail, but she was no where near as brave as the man standing above her. She had a terrified look on her face and her gaze kept shifting from her to Connie in her chokehold. 

“Jean, put your gun down now.” 

Annie looked back at the newcomer to the situation. His hair was short and dark, and freckles were scattered all over his face like sprinkles. He had a babyface, similar to Armin’s—a bit round and eyes the size of saucers. He wore round glasses and had on a plaid shirt, rolled up to his elbows. His hands, surprisingly large, were spread out between Armin and the man above Annie, presumably Jean. He was acting as a barrier, a peacekeeper, and Annie had no idea what to think about that. 

“Put my gun down?” Jean retorted. “He shot first!” 

“I don’t care. Put it down right now.” There was a grave tune in his voice; he was serious, he wasn’t fucking around. 

“Well, tell her to let go of Connie!” 

“Put your gun down first.” 

“Jean?” came the uncertain and terrified voice of the girl sitting in the kitchen. 

“Goddammit, Jean, put the gun down!” the freckled man hollered with more force than Annie anticipated. 

Armin, still aiming his gun between Jean and the freckled man, looked just as confused and scared as Annie felt. More loud arguing went on between the two before Jean ultimately dropped his rifle (though it still dangled from the strap hugging his back and Annie still didn’t feel entirely sure of her or Armin’s safety). 

Freckles then turned back to Armin. “Okay, I’m so sorry about the confusion. We thought the house was empty.” 

He didn’t respond. His gun was now targeted at Freckles, but Annie knew there wasn’t much certainty in his grip. 

Freckles began talking fast, forcing on an occasional grin. “We, uh, came looking for food, but if this house is taken, then we’ll drop whatever we found and leave you guys alone. Period. Dot. We’ll get out of your hair and you’ll never see us again.” He shifted his weight around nervously. “So, uh, could you please put the gun down?” 

Armin hesitated for a long while. Annie watched the gears spin madly behind his glasses, observing the situation at hand, scrutinizing every possibly fatal detail. He was taking a serious gamble, no matter what he did. But he eventually lowered his weapon, slow like a slithering snail. 

“Okay, thank you. Thank you very much.” Freckles nodded his head and then peeked at Annie over his shoulder, hands still up in defense. He turned back to Armin. “And, uh, could you tell her to let go of our friend? Please?” 

Connie was losing strength quickly—his hands became sluggish and Annie could see his face turning as red as a cherry. His full body weight slowly lowered onto her stomach with each passing minute, his fate fading in and out like a ghostly mist. 

Armin locked gazes with her and he nodded his head once. “Annie, let him go.” 

She gritted her teeth. She couldn’t believe he was trusting these people. They were strangers, killers, thieves. Who knew what kind of horrible deeds they’d done throughout their miserable lives? When she refused to comply, Armin gave her a grave yet disappointed stare. His words from last night then rung in her head like church bells: They’re just like us, looking to survive. We’re all different but all the same.

She grudgingly let go of Connie and the boy breathed in a giant gulp of air, coughing uncontrollably. He rolled to the side and crawled away like a frightened baby turtle. He collapsed in the girl’s awaiting arms in the kitchen, who tried squeezing life back into him with tight, warm hugs. 

Annie got onto her knees and looked up to see Freckles stretch out a hand toward her as if he wished to help her get on her feet again. Without casting another glance at him, she stood up and rushed over to Armin and embraced him. He hugged her back, swiping the drywall dust out of her eyes, breathing out a quick, “You alright?” 

She nodded and then turned back toward the odd group, holding onto Armin’s right arm like a shy child. She kept a mental note that the crowbar was still stuck in the door right above her. 

An awkward silence settled in the air between them and Annie felt the gaze of nearly everyone in the room eye her bare legs. She felt an angry knot form in the pit of her stomach. Were they really self-conscious about seeing a half-naked woman defending her life? She still had underwear and a T-shirt on, for Christ’s sake. This wasn’t like that time when she went bathing in a river and then got ambushed by two clickers. She single-handedly killed them with her hunting knife and a couple of rocks. In the end, she was covered in blood again and she told Armin to keep a lookout before turning around and going back in the river. 

She took this time to really observe these new survivors. All the men had a bit of scruff dotted around their cheeks, chin, and jaw (the one named Connie had only the ghost of a mustache above his upper lip, however). Ponytail, or Jean, had the most, but she’d be giving him too much credit to call it a beard. His dirty ponytail tickled the nape of his neck and he wore a heavy red flannel, despite the scorching heat outside. His knuckles were bright red and a few cuts nipped at his fingers. He gave Annie a sharp glare as he angrily tapped his foot against the hardwood floor. 

Connie, who was still trying to catch his breath, let the girl stroke the side of his face like how you would a kitten. A grey beanie covered his egg-shaped head. He had on a white T-shirt with a cartoon character on it, the fabric shredded in several places and mud caked the hems. The left knee in his denims was completely torn, revealing a bandage beneath. 

The girl, still unnamed, had long auburn hair tied in a ponytail on the top of her head. Her big golden eyes darted around the room like flies over a corpse. Her grey tank-top had sweat stains underneath her armpits and a smear of dirt or blood over her stomach. Her matching grey sweatpants had forest remnants on her knees and lower calves. A blue backpack hugged her shoulders and Annie spotted a little cat keychain dangling from one of the zippers. 

Freckles had glasses similar to Armin’s, but they were in better shape. However, he had a black patch over his right eye and Annie could make out pink scars zigzagging across his forehead and slinking behind his patch. He obviously suffered a major injury of some sort. His black fringe was long, but not as long as Jean’s. His backpack sagged against his spine, most likely not carrying much or something very vital. His fingers were black, probably from digging through the dirt, and his tennis shoes sported the same color and texture. 

“Uh, sorry about all that,” Freckles said, clearing his throat. His lowered his hands, placing them on his hips. “Didn’t mean to scare you guys.” 

“Fucking scared the shit out of me,” Connie rasped from the kitchen. “Like, literally, I think I shit my pants.” 

“We weren’t expecting anyone, either,” Armin admitted. 

“Of course you weren’t, of course you weren’t,” Freckles agreed. “Um…” He looked at Armin and Annie, and then back at his own group. Jean seemed to know what he was thinking, and he narrowed his eyes, shaking his head curtly. Freckles lingered on Jean for a moment before disregarding the look and turning back to them. 

“My-My name is Marco,” he said, gesturing to himself before pointing at Jean. “That’s my boyfriend, Jean. And over in the kitchen is Connie and Sasha.” 

Connie lifted a hand in greeting. “Uh, yeah, what’s up.” 

Sasha waved a feeble hand, still pretty freaked out. 

“I think I caught your name earlier,” Marco said, motioning to Annie. “Annie, wasn’t it?” 

She merely stared back at him, unresponsive. 

“She’s not too fond of strangers,” Armin explained like he was clarifying to a neighbor why his dog keeps shitting by his mailbox. “But she has a right to be, we all do.” He lifted his hand, shifting around Annie’s grasp on him. “I’m Armin, by the way.” 

Marco nodded. “Armin, hi. So, um, my group and I have been having a rough time of trying to get some food lately—”

“Marco, don’t do this,” Jean hissed through his teeth, crossing his arms defensively. 

He whipped toward his boyfriend and hissed back, “What? What else can we do?” 

“Uh, fucking leave. Let’s just leave, Marco. I’m done here.” 

“I second that,” Connie coughed from the kitchen. “I don’t feel like wrestling anyone else today.” 

“Come on, guys!” Marco pleaded, both frustrated and desperate. “It’s been days. I think it’s time we ask for help. We can’t go much longer if our pace doesn’t pick up soon.” 

Armin and Annie exchanged a look. Behind his cracked glasses, Annie could see possibilities running like an old movie film. She wasn’t buying it, though. The living, in her opinion, were always more difficult to deal with than clickers. They had the opportunities to betray and steal and lie in order to get what they want while you always knew what a clicker wanted and what you needed to do to stop them. She frowned to show her displeasure and Armin copied the same action. 

Just listen to what they have to say, his look told her. They technically haven’t done anything wrong. 

“I say we take our chances elsewhere,” Jean said, firm and hostile. “This place is obviously taken, let’s just go.” 

“Um, we aren’t staying here,” Armin piped up and Annie felt her stomach drop to the ground and her eyes roll back to the ceiling. An irritated huff escaped her lungs. 

You better know what you’re doing, her dramatic sigh replied. 

Marco and Jean and Sasha peered up at him (Connie’s eyes were squeezed shut as he rubbed at his torso). Armin swallowed and continued: “We, uh, just got here yesterday. We don’t plan on staying long; staying in one spot can be too dangerous.” 

Marco nodded slowly. “Do you have a destination in mind?” 

“No. We just want to be safe is all.” 

“Yeah, everyone does,” Jean commented in a sarcastic growl. 

Marco nudged his elbow and looked back at Armin, his gaze steady. “Well, like I said earlier, we’re having trouble getting food. We haven’t eaten in almost three days now. Luck has not been on our side, but now…I think since we ran into you guys, and you haven’t killed us yet, I’d say it’s starting to pick up again.” He chuckled nervously. “Um, would you guys be willing to trade? You wouldn’t happen to have some food on you that you’re willing to spare?” 

Armin shifted his weight onto one foot. Annie’s frown deepened. Bad sign, he was letting his guard down. 

“Well…um…” he stuttered. 

“What do you guys need? We can trade with, uh, flashlights or matches. I have a Swiss army knife you guys can have. Um, we got some ammo—” 

“Medicine!” Annie blurted out. 

They all looked at her sudden outburst; it was the only thing she said thus far. She could feel Armin’s eyes and she tried not to meet his gaze, a little afraid of what she might see. Instead she squeezed his wrist, looked down at their toes, swallowed her anxiety, and glanced back up at Marco’s curious eye. 

“You guys have antibiotics?” she asked quietly. “Or some painkillers?” 

Marco paused for a moment before looking over at Jean. He peered back with a threatening stare that dared him to say what was on their minds. Marco took a deep breath and looked back at Annie with a subtle grin creeping on his chapped lips. Jean growled “Marco—” but he couldn’t get any further than that. 

“I have a bottle of penicillin if you want,” Marco declared. “It seems like you have a great use for it, so I’ll let you have it.” 

He then walked over to Sasha and Connie who had risen back on their feet. He unzipped Sasha’s backpack, the little black cat swinging wildly from side to side. Connie mumbled something to him, but Marco was mainly unresponsive, fishing around Sasha’s stash. 

“See?” Armin whispered to her, his eyes locked on the odd group before them. He suppressed a smirk. “There is some beauty in humanity. Just gotta look a little harder.” 

Annie huffed again, combing her fingers through her long fringe. “Your health is the utmost priority. That’s all.”

She felt his eyes linger on her as Marco came back into the living room with an orange bottle in his grasp. He stopped about two yards in front of them and gingerly held out the bottle to Annie. With careful yet desperate fingers, she snatched it and peered through the orange cage. The bottle was about a quarter full of little white tablets. A wonderful rush of relief eased into Annie’s shoulders. 

“So, you guys got some food?” Marco asked. 

Armin nodded with a small smile and made an effort of showing his gun, wiggling it in the air as it were a mere spoon, nothing of real harm. He then walked into the bedroom beside him, placed the gun on the bed, dug through his backpack, and came back with the box of cereal and two cans of black beans. 

He stepped toward Marco and rested the treasures in his waiting hands. “They’re all yours. Thank you.” 

Marco looked down at the items as if they were made out of magic and unicorns. Sasha and Connie gasped in wonder, and even Jean seemed to lose his stubborn composure for two whole seconds. Marco gazed at Armin and Annie as if they were gods and thanked them profusely. He walked over to Jean, and Sasha and Connie jogged up to meet him. Connie grabbed the cans and examined them while Sasha already began stuffing her face with the honey oats (Jean batted at her hands and took both the box and cans from them). 

Annie pressed the medicine into Armin’s palm. “You should probably take one a day.” 

He grinned. “I will. This should do the trick.” 

He stuffed it into his sweatpants pocket when Marco spoke up again: “Hey, you guys are, like, what I read about in books. You’re very rare to come across.” 

Armin looked up, interest clearly peaked. “What do you read?” 

“Whatever I can find, really. I like finding out about what life was like before…” His hands gestured all around them. “…all of this. Did you guys see that ice cream truck down the street?” 

Armin nodded his head like a bobblehead in a runaway car. “Yeah! Isn’t that amazing?” 

“That’s what I said!” 

“Man, ice cream sounds so good right now,” Sasha gushed through her stuffed mouth. “I haven’t even had it, but I bet it tastes like heaven.” 

“Who in the hell would let their kid take sugar from some guy in a giant white van with creepy-ass music blaring from it?” Jean added. 

Annie couldn’t help but agree. 

“It’s all a part of the magic,” Marco insisted. “Just like that Disney World place.” 

Armin’s torn eyebrows crinkled together in confusion. “What world?” 

Marco turned to Armin with a giant smile on his face. “It’s in this travel book I found. It’s, like, one of the top things to see in this country.” 

He then slung his backpack onto the floor and dug through it like a dog digging through a garden. He pulled out a fat book with blackened edges and a tattered cover. Annie caught a picture of a green lady holding a torch and the words “Things to Do” but the rest of the paper-cover was torn off. Marco flipped to a page he had bookmarked and showed off a black and white photo of a giant castle with “Disney World” in funky font positioned above. 

“According to this,” Marco read from the page, “Disney World was a giant amusement park dedicated to a bunch of movies. Granted most of them were designed for children, Disney soon became a worldwide phenomenon, and the park is one of the most visited places not only in this country but in the entire world. It was apparently, and I quote, ‘the happiest place on earth.’” 

Annie listened to Marco explain the “Disney” concept. It was crowded with roller coasters, restaurants, giant spinning teacups, masked characters, ice cream stands, and a huge castle stood in the middle of it all. She didn’t understand it, but Marco spoke of it like it was a literal heaven, descending angels and all. He sounded like how Armin talked about his own books. 

“I wanna try all those mouse treats!” Sasha exclaimed with a big smile on her face. 

“No, ‘Mickey-Mouse’ treats,” Marco corrected. “You’re making it sound like they’re actual mouse treats.” 

“Whatever. I want to get a view from that castle.” Connie put his fists on his hips and grinned at the bullet hole in the wall as if he were really peering out one of the castle’s many windows. “Ya think there’s some gold hidden in the basement or something?” 

“What does gold matter now?” Jean asked. “Not like it’s worth anything anymore.” 

“Why you gotta rain on my parade? Don’t you wanna know what it’s like to be happy again?” 

“Shut up, Connie.” 

Marco turned back to Armin and Annie, his eye bright with possibilities. “It might be too much, but you guys are more than welcome to come along. I mean, yeah, the world sucks and we’re bound to run into trouble on the way, but there’s still stuff to see and do. So…” He shrugged one shoulder. “It’s up to you. You guys just seem like good people.” 

Good people? There was no such thing in a world like this. They were all liars and thieves and murderers; what kind of people were they running into that made him come to that conclusion? Annie’s eyes drifted to her toes and then up to Armin’s face. She saw that sparkle in his ocean eyes, the wonder as bright as the summer sun. He was easily tempted, yet she wasn’t sure what to think about such a drastic offer. 

He then looked down at her and something in her stopped and pushed away the prickling fear of people for a moment or two. Everything that he needed to say was there in his eyes—desperation, hope, yearning, gratefulness. There’s something more to life besides running, surviving. She could hear his voice in her head like a bell or a tuned violin, a note that made you pause in your tracks and lead an ear. There are sights and smells and sounds of precious gems that we haven’t even heard of. There are goals and desires and destinations that we thought didn’t exist anymore. There’s so much and we’ve been looking the other way this entire time. 

The world is cruel, but beautiful—every day is a lovely day. 

At the slightest, Annie’s lips tilted upwards and Armin knew he received his answer. He then faced Marco again and smiled as bright as the stars in the blackest night. “We’d be honored to join.”


	9. In the Woods Somewhere (Hozier)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Based off Let the Right One In. I finally got around to watching the Swedish classic a while ago and LOVED IT—I read the book years ago and enjoyed that too and was pleased to find the movie was pretty close to the novel. I suggest it if you’re interested. 
> 
> Definitely broke my one-shot rule here (with it being so long) but I love the story so much that I couldn’t take out too many scenes. Also it does not help that Kȧre Hedebrant (the lead of the movie) already looks like a little Armin (except with brighter hair and smaller eyes) so that’s only adding fuel to my fire. Anyways, hope you enjoy, despite the word count!**

As he admired the soft gleam of the switchblade in his hands, something bright poked in the corner of his vision. Distracted, he glanced up and watched a taxi gently roll its way through the snow-packed parking lot. He found this a little strange—he never saw anyone outside the apartment complex (he hardly saw any other residents simply walking to their car or fetch their mail), so he let his eyes linger through his window and into the winter night, the knife forgotten like a flyaway strand of hair. 

He watched two men get out of the car, the taxi driver and his passenger. They both went to the trunk of the car and began unloading suitcases and boxes. Armin paid more attention to the passenger, probably a new occupant of his apartment building (which, again, he found strange). He was short and dressed entirely in black, a floppy hat concealing majority of his facial features. The taxi driver’s lips moved but the man never spoke back. Armin could sense the awkwardness from his bedroom window. 

Suddenly another person got out of the backseat. This person was even shorter and had blonde hair, a striking contrast to the darkness all travelers wore. They merely shut the car door and then lumbered into the building, disappearing from Armin’s view. 

Once all luggage was out of the trunk (which wasn’t very much at all if these people were new residents), the taxi driver got back in his car and drove away. Overtime, Armin could hear heavy footsteps and shifting around from his wall. He was right—new neighbors. 

Armin stroked his thumb over the knife’s blade once more before tucking it beneath his bed and closing his eyes. 

\--- 

“I’m going out, Mom.” 

His mother, sitting on the couch, flicked her tired eyes his way, watching him shrug on his heavy winter coat. “You’re not gonna watch the show?” 

He forced on a weak smile and shrugged one shoulder. “I already saw that episode.” 

She blinked back to the television in front of her as she wrapped the blanket tighter around her. “Alright then. Don’t go farther than the parking lot.” 

“I won’t.” He finished tucking a deep blue scarf around his neck and then opened the front door, giving his constantly exhausted mother one more glance before stepping out of the apartment. 

He tried not to think about the argument she and his father had over the phone a few nights ago and turned his mind to Porco, Marlowe, and Floch. He thought back to earlier that day in school when the trio ganged up on him after gym class, pushing him against the lockers and flicking his nose and telling him to “squeal like the little piggy you are.” Of course, it was nothing serious, compared to the other things they had done to him, but it still boiled his insides and made him think awful thoughts. 

His hand twitched and grabbed at his jacket as he pushed open the doors to the apartment complex. The harsh winter cold attacked his bare face and hands, but the feeling was nothing compared to the numbness in his chest. He marched pass the playset, a sad-looking thing made of pipes and sheets of metal, and toward the few slender trees near the edge of the property which led into an open wood of snow and quiet. He slowed down until he was a few feet from the first tree, staring at it hard, imaging Porco’s square face plastered on it. 

The anger jolted in his fingertips and tugged on his tongue. Slowly he pulled out his switchblade from the inside of his coat and flicked it open. He gripped it tightly and aimed it at the tree. He recalled the words Porco said to him earlier that day and repeated them back to the tree in a quiet and shaky voice. 

“What are you staring at? What are you looking at, little pig?” He took a few cautious steps toward the tree. “Why don’t you squeal like the little piggy that you are?” 

He lightly stabbed the end of the blade at the tree, his face trying to master the same merciless taunt that Porco so often sported. “Well? Go on. Squeal, you pig.” 

When the tree didn’t respond, Armin let the bottled-up anger uncap itself a little and gripped the knife so tightly that his bony knuckles bulged like tiny stones beneath his skin. “Go ahead and scream,” he growled under his breath as he drove the knife into the tree, into Porco’s gut. 

He imagined Porco’s blood and intestines spilling out of the tree like candy from a piñata and his screams penetrating the silent black sky above them like a dying animal. He imagined the blood staining his hands like gloves as he rammed the knife back in again, bark chipping off in tiny flakes. He went in for another good stab when he had the sudden feeling of eyes on him. 

Embarrassment and fear bloomed across his cheeks as he slowly turned around and looked at the playset not too far from where he stood. Standing upon the highest platform was a little girl, staring unblinkingly at him with a dead expression on her face. Blonde hair framed her sharp features—piercing blue eyes, a large Roman nose, full frowning lips—and a white shirt rolled up to her elbows hugged her small torso. She also wore black pants, but no shoes, jacket, mittens, scarf, or anything else that would protect her from the cold. Her skin was so white that she could’ve blend easily into the thick snow around them. 

The two merely stared in silence at each other for a good thirty seconds until the girl parted her lips and asked, “What are you doing?” 

Armin swallowed and stumbled out, “N-Nothing. What are you doing?” 

She hesitated before replying, “Nothing.”

Another sea of silence washed over them. Armin studied the girl closer, but his feet were rooted firmly in the snow beside the poor tree who had to stand in Porco’s place. Even though he felt mighty uncomfortable in the presence of a stranger who just saw him stabbing a tree, there wasn’t a certain vibe or aura he got from the girl. No rays of judgement came his way and there was nothing in her demeanor that suggested she thought he was crazy. It was kind of reliving in a way. 

He finally recognized the girl’s blonde hair and small structure and said, “You just moved here, didn’t you?”

She slowly nodded her head like an old toy running low on batteries. “I live next to you.” 

A tiny spark of fear lighted in his chest. “How do you know where I live?” 

Still moving no faster than a sleepy sloth, she turned halfway and pointed at the window beside his bedroom. He noticed that he left his lamp on in his room, but the window to the right was completely dark. In fact, it looked like something was covering it up like cardboard or posters. 

“I saw you looking at me through your window last night,” the girl said simply and another prick of anxiety poked at his lungs. 

“Um, I, uh…” he stumbled, looking around the glittering snow as if there was a response already prepared for him lying around somewhere. When he found nothing, he tried swallowing down the nervousness practically dripping off his tongue like honey and peered back up at the girl. 

“Who-Who are you?” 

She didn’t answer, but instead hopped from her place upon the playset and landing gracefully in the snow. Armin blinked in mild shock. That had to be a good fifteen-foot drop from where she had been standing and she landed without so much as a stumble. If he had done that, he surely would’ve landed flat on his face or fractured something at the very least. 

She took two steps toward him and he took two steps back. “I can’t be friends with you,” she uttered in a low tone (though it wasn’t daunting or threatening in any way). 

Confusion crinkled his eyebrows together. “What?”

“Just so you know. We can’t be friends.” 

He glanced to the side and then back at her. Was that an underlining that, yes, she did want to be friends but was too shy or scared to commit? Or was she dead serious and just getting things out of the way? And where did this concept of friendship come from all of the sudden? She just saw him knifing a tree and the first thought that came to her mind was friendship? They were strangers, neighbors—acquaintances was too strong of a word for whatever this was. What a strange girl. 

“Um, okay?” 

She glared in the slightest as if she thought he didn’t believe her. “I’m serious. We can’t be friends.” 

“I know, I heard you—” he trailed off once she started walking away from him and toward the apartment. She hardly casted a second glance his way, leaving him in the dust. He watched her go just like how he did last night, eyeing the bitter snow coating her bare feet. 

He waited motionless for another minute or two after she vanished from his sight. Stuffing the switchblade back into his pocket, he lumbered back toward the building, peeked up the stairwell, and, when he didn’t see her there, hurried back to his own apartment and spent the rest of the night watching TV with his mom. 

\--- 

With his arms crossed over his desk, Armin listened to the class’s guest speaker, a policeman named Officer Pixis, talk about dead bodies in crime scenes. He walked in between the aisles with a dignified air, back straight, arms crossed behind him, and Armin tried not to let his acute interest show. His eyes followed the old man around the room, his ears perked up like a fox. 

“And so whenever we come across a body in a burning building or some enclosed space with a fire inside, we go to remove the body immediately before the flames get to it. We need to know if the person was killed before the fire was started or what exactly happened to them.” He turned around and leaned against the desk at the front of the room beside his teacher, Ms. Ral. “What inside a person’s body would give away that they were killed by the fire and not something else?” 

Armin, unable to contain himself, shot his hand into the air. Officer Pixis motioned to him and Armin answered, “There would be smoke in the person’s lungs. They would’ve died of suffocation and not the fire itself.” 

Officer Pixis raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Why yes, that’s correct. How’d you know that, young man?” 

Suddenly humiliated, he curled into himself, feeling the eyes of his classmates bore into him like drills. “I, uh, read a lot.” 

“Is that so? And what kind of books would those be?” 

Armin shrugged shyly. “Just books.”

Officer Pixis pursed his lips and let the matter drop. He chatted a bit more about all sorts of homicides he dealt with, and Armin’s curiosity got the best of him as he unfurled himself and stared at the policeman as if he was reading one of his books. 

Class soon came to an end and Ms. Ral thanked Officer Pixis for stopping by and reminded the class to turn in their field trip slips by Thursday. Armin packed up his things and headed out the door with the rest of his classmates. His ears eventually picked up a nearby conversation shared by two girls, Mina Carolina and Hannah Diamant. 

“Did you hear about the dead guy they found in the park the other day?” Mina asked frantically, always one for gossip.

“What? No. What park?” 

“The one by the lake. They said they found a man hanging upside down in a tree with his neck slit. They said there was blood, like, everywhere. But they found a funnel and a jug underneath him full of blood like someone was collecting it or whatever.” 

“Ew, oh my God, that’s creepy.” Hannah visibly shuddered to show her distress. 

“Yeah, and they didn’t catch the guy! He’s still roaming around. Like, who would do that, go around and kill people and full up milk jugs with their blood?” 

“What a freak. I hope they catch him.” 

Armin lost interest in their conversation once he heard the familiar taunt “Piggy, piggy!” ring through the halls. He rushed off, hoping and succeeding that he would escape Porco’s round of insults for at least a day. He trudged through the snow on his way home, observing the beauty around him. Most weren’t fans of winter, but he enjoyed the stillness and simple splendor of the February month. The soft crunching of snow beneath his boots and the sparkling of snowflakes in the air distilled the numbness inside him for a while. 

When he got home, his mother warned him of the said killer that he heard Mina and Hannah talking about earlier. “You can’t go anywhere else without my permission,” she scorned. “You only to go school and back, is that clear?” 

He nodded his head and inquired more about what the killer did exactly but she tucked the newspaper in her back pocket and refused to discuss the subject any further. He then asked if he could at least go out to the playset at night which was in perfect view of the living room window. After a bit of bickering, his mother ultimately allowed him this tiny slice of freedom but said she would be watching very carefully whenever he did. He went out that night after dinner but instead of taking his knife, he took his Rubik cube. 

As usual, no one else was there. He lumbered over the sheets of metal called a playset and sat on the lowest platform. Before taking out his scrambled Rubik cube, he peered into the darkened woods. Nothing but lumps of snow and naked, skinny trees could be seen. There was a certain beauty about winter trees—yes, they looked dead and boring, but Armin believed their nakedness, their slender trunks and bare limbs was an incredible sight to behold. There was magnificence in these woods somewhere. It was only a matter of finding it. 

He sighed and peered down at the colorful cube in his hands and began twisting around its sides and corners. The tiny cranks it made echoed in the still air, being the only sound for perhaps miles and miles. He continued to turn and spin and move the parts and he was vaguely aware of a body looming behind him. 

He froze for a minute but once he recognized the familiar unjudgmental atmosphere they carried, he eased a little and glanced his gaze to the side, still twisting his Rubik cube around. He found the bare toes of the girl sitting one platform higher, deep red, almost to the point of being black. 

Lifting the corners of his lips, he shifted around and looked up at the girl. She peered down at him with the same emotionless frown as last night. She even wore the same shirt, except this time she had on shorts, her pale thighs camouflaged with the thick snow underneath her. 

“Hi,” he mumbled timidly. 

She didn’t respond, only stared. He drifted back to his Rubik cube, feeling a blush of pink glow around his cheeks. A full minute passed before she said, “I told you we can’t be friends.” 

“I know you did. I wasn’t suggesting otherwise.” 

“Then why did you say hi to me?” 

He felt his lips twitch. Has no one ever been courteous to her? What kind of ideology did she carry? “I was just being polite.” 

When they fell into another pit of silence, he was suddenly afraid that she would bring up what happened last night. That was the first time anyone saw him doing that; he always made sure to put his knife safely away, so his mother wouldn’t catch him and think him a madman that needed to be locked up. He swore he wasn’t demented or evil in any way, just a little tired. 

“What’s that in your hand?” came the voice of the girl, knocking him out of his inner worries. 

He peeked behind him and found her stretching her neck forward to get a better look at it. He held it up for her to see. “A Rubik cube.” 

Her clear confusion didn’t subside at all. It was like she never saw anything like it before. “Is it a sort of puzzle?” 

“Yeah…” She really didn’t know, did she? Another strange thing about her; these toys were widely popular and he saw plenty of his classmates passing the cube with one another, hoping to solve it. 

He offered it up to her. “You can try it if you want.” 

Very gingerly she took it. She turned it around in her hands, scrutinizing it like it was a complicated math formula. He saw her eyebrows crinkle and her lips frown; she was truly lost. 

“How do I do it?” 

“Here.” He took it back and started twisting it again. “You have to get the sides to be one color like that.” He held up a solid white side and her eyes lit up in understanding and impressiveness. 

She took it back from him and shifted the sides around, hunched over in her work. Waiting to see if she got anywhere with it, he leaned back against the railing. He was hit with a strong smell that made his nose scrunch up. He leaned forward again and, though it was still there, it watered down some. 

The girl reeked of body odor like she hadn’t taken a shower in weeks. He peered up at her. Her shirt, wrinkled and a dull ivory shade, was probably once a starch white color. Her blonde hair was straight with heavy grease and tiny pimples were scattered along her hairline. And the lack of clothes on her made him even colder. This girl obviously didn’t know how to take care of herself. 

“Aren’t you cold?” he asked her. 

She shook her head, eyes glued to the cube. “No.” 

“Really? It’s beyond freezing out here.” 

She shrugged. “I guess I forgot how to be cold.” 

Forgot how to be cold? How could one forget to feel? This girl was more complex than the Rubik cube. 

“Where do you go to school?” Armin asked, wanting to unlock a side of her. 

“I don’t go to school.” 

“Are you homeschooled?” 

“No.” 

“Do you live with your dad?” 

A pause. “Yes.” 

He noticed the pattern of one-worded responses and the lack of emotion in her voice. This was obviously not going to be easy. He studied her face once more, accidently catching her eye and then looking away quickly. For the most part, she seemed wrapped-up in the puzzle before her and wasn’t really giving him enough attention to hold a decent conversation. 

“You can have that until tomorrow night,” he told her, gesturing to the cube. “See how far you get.” 

Her eyes turned to him and, when she didn’t say anything for a while, he asked, “Will you be here tomorrow?”

Uncertainly, she nodded her head and pursed her lips. 

“Great, I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow. My mom is probably worried about me right now.” He pushed himself off the platform and gave a little wave as he lumbered back inside. The girl didn’t wave back but instead watched him walk up to the door and then resumed to the cube. 

He slept soundly that night and, when he got back home from school the next day, he found his completed Rubik cube sitting on the playset where she had sat. He picked it up and examined it, turning it around in his hands. His eyes lifted to the brick building and looked at her covered window. He couldn’t help but to crack a smile. What a strange girl. 

\--- 

He watched the little hands on his wristwatch tick away the hours, the minutes, the seconds until he was given the freedom to go back outside. His mother never mentioned the girl from last night, and he figured she wasn’t watching him like she said she would. He considered telling her—or at least asking her—about the girl next door, but he later disregarded the idea. In a way, he felt like he would be destroying something if he told anyone about her. She was so mysterious, so peculiar. He felt like he would ruin the idea of her if he spilled her quiet existence, so he kept his mouth shut. 

Once he pulled open the doors of the apartment building, he was delighted to see the girl sitting upon the playset, kicking her legs in impatience. She turned her head to look at him and he could vaguely make out the shape of a tiny smile upon her lips. With the finished cube in his hand, he jogged over to her, the chilly air biting at his cheeks. 

“You did it,” he smiled as he sat down beside her. “How’d you do it?” 

She shrugged. “I just turned it.” 

“Yeah, but how?” He stared at the cube like it was the fountain of youth. “Were you out here for long?”

She shook her head. “Not too long.” 

He looked up at her. She looked a little different from the other night. Her hair was brighter shade of sunshine and had volume to it; it looked soft and silky. Though she was still barefoot, she had on thick demine jeans and a sweater. She was still really pale, but now there was a glow to her skin, a tint of pink on her cheeks. She looked healthier, a little prettier. 

“Um, what’s your name?” he asked. 

She looked back at him with the same inquisitive eyes that he was giving her. “Annie. And you?”

“Armin.” He paused and then inquired, “How old are you?”

She glanced to the side. “Thirteen, more or less. What about you?”

He frowned. “I’m twelve. What do you mean ‘more or less?’” 

The girl, Annie, shifted in her seat, uncomfortable. She supplied no answer, and he kind of expected it. Something told him to drop it, but how could he?   
Did she not know how old she was? “When’s your birthday?” 

Her eye drifted for an answer. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t—” He clamped down on the words, not wanting to be rude for her not knowing something. But her birthday? It was one of the first things a person should know about themselves; at least she knew her name. He pursed his lips and phrased another question: “Well, don’t you celebrate your birthday?” 

A slow head shake from Annie. His shoulders slumped and his heart shrunk the more questions he asked. He felt so sorry for her. His heart ached at her bare, blackened toes, her high walls, her hazy knowledge on herself. What kind of life was she leading? 

“Your parents would know. Hasn’t your dad ever told you?” 

Her eyes momentarily strayed on her window above them, shielded with ripped pieces of cardboard. She then peered down at the completed Rubik cube in his hands. He looked at it too, twirling it around in admiration. 

“So, you mustn’t get birthday presents, don’t you?” he muttered under his breath. 

He caught the ends of her hair shake once again. “No.” 

He hesitated before offering the cube to her. “Have this. Consider it a late birthday gift.” 

Annie blinked but shook her head. “No, it’s yours.” 

“You probably need it more than me. Please, take it.”

“No, thank you.” 

In her eyes, he could see that she truly didn’t want it, but was touched by the present, so he retracted his hand with a sad smile. Another moment of awkward silence passed before Annie eventually scooted an inch or two closer to him. 

“Do I smell nice?”

Armin raised his eyebrows in puzzlement and glanced up. She was fiddling with a few strands of her hair shyly, eyes casted downwards but periodically sneaking a glimpse up at him. She smelled clean which was significantly better than yesterday. Armin wondered if she caught his displeasure at her appearance and body odor and that was why she decided to take a shower and wear something that covered her limbs. 

Blood rushed up to his face as he looked back down. “Uh, yes.” 

He noticed the muscles tense in her thighs for a quick moment, probably satisfied with his answer. Praying that his blond fringe would shield his blush and searching for something else to say, he referred back to the cube, his only backup plan. “I still can’t believe you figured this out in such short a time.” 

“You want me to show you?” Her monotone voice perked in the slightest and he grinned as he mixed the colors up and handed it back to her. 

“You start with the corners. That’s the fastest way…” She mumbled the directions as she clicked the plastic parts around. He leaned closer to watch but pulled away some to look at her some more (with her temporarily distracted). She appeared a lot better than the other night—despite the semi-warm clothes and washed hair, she didn’t look quite as…well, dead. Her skin had brightened a bit, flushing in her cheeks and neck. Even her cold eyes melted some. She was like the woods, he realized, a spark of loveliness in this cold, dark forest. 

He bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling too widely. 

\--- 

Armin huddled in the corner of the hallway as he copied down his notes. School had let out a few minutes ago and he hoped staying in the presence of several other students and teachers that Porco and his gang would keep their hands off of him. It worked, for his eyes caught his familiar snowy sneakers along with Marlowe and Floch slow down near him but pick back up when the principal walked by. 

Breathing a sigh of relief, he snuggled into his coat and continued writing down the morse code page he found in his American-Vietnamese war textbook. 

It took him another fifteen or so minutes (he lost track of his purpose and ended up reading a little on the history of morse code and how an American general blinked the language while he was filmed by the Vietnamese as means of propaganda) and he shut up his notepad and textbook and stuffed them in his backpack. He opened up the double doors to find the school grounds mainly empty, save a few students waiting on the sidewalk for their parents come pick them up. 

He walked around the building to take his usual shortcut home but stopped dead in his tracks when he found Porco, Floch, and Marlowe waiting for him, a long skinny stick in Porco’s hands. 

That sly smirk creased his chapped lips, sending a shiver down Armin’s spine. “Hey there, little piggy. What’s up?” 

He gulped nervously, unable to form any words with his sandpaper tongue. He cringed when they all lumbered toward him like the undead and surrounded him. Floch held no particular expression, just staring at him with his hands in his pockets. Marlowe tried looking intimidating, but Armin knew there was a splash of concern behind his small eyes. Porco planted himself in front of him and lightly smacked the stick in the palm of his gloved hand. 

“I saw you jotting something down just now,” he said. “You were writing like your life depended on it—must’ve been pretty important. What were you writing?”

Armin’s hands, slick with sweat, clamped and unclamped at his side. How he wished he had his knife on him right now. He licked his lips. “N-Nothing.” 

Porco snorted. “Is that so? Well, if it’s nothing, let me see it.” He stuck out one hand while the other loosely held onto the long stick at his side. 

Armin’s eyes peeked at Marlowe and Floch behind him. Floch stared him down like he was cramming for a test in the next hour and Marlowe’s gaze was trapped somewhere between the snow and his boots. There was no way out of this one. They were either going to take away his notebook or do something else (hopefully nothing permanent). But, if there was no escape, then might as well go down fighting, right? Those notes were worth a beating or two. 

He turned back to Porco, glaring. “No.” 

His thick eyebrows scrunched in puzzlement. “Excuse me? What did you just say?” He leaned forward on his toes, his eyes narrow like a snake’s, his breath hot like a bull’s. He was testing him, or maybe he was really surprised that Armin resisted. The fear in his stomach did curl into itself, wanting to flee, to surrender, but he pushed the feeling back down and drew a shaky breath. 

“I said no.” 

Three incredibly long seconds passed of Porco boring holes into his eyes, processing what was happening. He finally cracked a smile and chuckled under his breath. “No, huh? What, is little piggy brave all of a sudden?” His smile then evaporated. “I’ll show you what happens to little piggies when they don’t do what I say.” 

His meaty hand sprang out and grabbed a fistful of Armin’s jacket. Armin gasped as he slammed him against the brick building of the school, the rough texture scrapping across his knuckles. The knot of fear tightened in his tummy, but he tried his best not to let it show—his teeth clamped down on his bottom lip to keep from crying and his eyes glared into the glittering snow, searching for something pleasant. 

Just when he thought Porco was going to shove the end of the stick up his nose or ram it into his ear, he noticed him glance to the side. 

“Floch,” he ordered, “take this.” He then offered the branch to him and Armin watched Floch nimbly wrap his fingers around the end. 

Porco kept his grip on him as he gave Floch a knowing look. Out of the corner of his eye, Armin saw Marlowe turn around—to look out for unwanted company or to not watch at all, he wasn’t sure. Floch stepped in front of Armin and stared at him, still unsure but willing to step up. Armin closed his eyes and waited for the pain. 

Some time had pass (it was probably a couple of seconds but it felt like eons to Armin) before he felt a bright stinging sensation swipe across his right cheek, his head whipping to the side. It wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be, but it still stabbed at his self-esteem all the same. 

“Hey, Floch!” The grasp on Armin’s chest fell and his eyes peeled open. Porco threw an irritated glare at the tall redhead. “Not at his face! Who’s gonna tell his mom?” 

The boys casted a glance at Armin and Floch threw down the stick at his feet before they all dashed away. He watched them go, breath heavy, blood seeping. He would tell his mother that night that he simply fell at recess and she would give him that sad, puppy-dog look, slip a band-aid over the cut, and kiss his cheek. 

\--- 

“I have just the thing.” Armin fished his notepad out of his backpack, opened it to the page, wiped away some of the thin snow that gathered on the platform, and laid it down. Annie craned forward like a swan and read the strange alphabet. 

“We can use this whenever we can’t go outside or something,” he explained. “Through the wall in our apartments, we can communicate through morse code. The dots stand for taps and the lines are drags. You’d have to pause between each letter for clarity. So, for example, if you wanted to say ‘hello’, you’d go to your wall and just—” Here he spelled out “hello” aloud while he tapped, paused, and dragged his finger across the metal platform, the sound echoing like a drop of water in a cave. 

He smiled up at Annie. “See? Simple as that.” He tore off the page from his notebook and handed it to her. “This is your copy.”

She held it up to her face, her eyes darting around the paper as if she tried memorizing the language right there and now. “So,” she said, the word crawling in mild confusion, “the dots are taps and the lines are drags…” 

“Yes.” He referred to his own copy. “Let’s spell your name. So, you’d tap, drag for A and then pause before dragging and tapping for N.” He demonstrated on the platform again, watched Annie do it, and then together they wrote her name on the cold, metal plate, marking her spot on the playset. 

The tiniest of smiles graced her lips. “Thank you, Armin.” 

He grinned back. “No problem.” 

“Armin?”

“Yes?”

“What happened to your face?” 

His smile melted off like a popsicle in the summer heat. He lowered his gaze to his open notepad and he pretended to reread his notes. His previous kicking legs had slowed to a stop, dangling below him like the legs of a hanged man. 

“Right there on your cheek.” Annie stroked her own cheek, on the spot where the ugly, glossy sand colored band-aid was taped. “What happened?” 

Should he tell her the same thing he told his mom? He hated people worrying over him, keeping his well-being in the back of their minds like a sick puppy with a brain tumor. To worry is to suffer twice, and he didn’t want Annie to suffer anymore than she probably already was. But, then again, he couldn’t ignore the sense of trust he felt around her either. He felt totally at ease with her (despite their awkward first meeting) and he somehow knew she wouldn’t betray or hurt him if he opened up a little. 

His numb fingers gently pushed around the flakes of snow littered all around the steel platform. His voice came out barely above a whisper: “It’s these three boys at school. They were giving me a hard time is all. But I’m fine; it’ll go away in a few days.”

He sensed her gaze zoom in on him and he cowered a little under the heat of it. “Armin, if those boys try to do it again, hit back. Don’t just stand there and take it. Hit them back and hit hard.”

The steady, low tone she carried frankly concerned him a little. There was an underbelly of anger and he (although he never saw her like that) knew he didn’t want her to be angry. 

“I’m serious, Armin. Hit them back.” 

He gulped nervously. “But what if they—”

“Hit harder than you ever dared. If you do it hard enough, then they’ll leave you alone.”

When he didn’t respond to this, he watched her bare hand, the fingernails crusted a deep red, cover his own tracing hand. He stopped, just relishing in her touch for a moment. It was cold, as expected, but there was a hidden warmth to it that made him want to stay right where he was. Perhaps if he waited long enough, their hands would fuse together like hot glue and then the warmth would spread its way into his numb chest, making them one.

“If you want, I can take care of those boys for you,” Annie said, her voice now soft and gentle like a wooden windchime. “I can do that.”

He looked at the certainty—no, determination—in her eyes. She didn’t blink, she didn’t look the other way. One part of him was touched that she cared this much to get involved in his personal life, to be a possible solution to his problems, but another part still wasn’t entirely sure what she meant by “take care of” them, and he figured it wouldn’t be nice. 

The longer he stared, the more he realized he wanted her to be a part of his life anyway, come what may.

He withdrew his hand from hers and packed his notebook into his backpack. Annie appeared confused and maybe a little hurt by his departure, but once he slipped his backpack on and got on his feet, he shot a smile down at her.

“Come on,” he said as he started walking backwards out of the parking lot. 

She straightened up, interest perked. “What?”

“Just come on.” He turned on his heel, but his eyes remained on her. Once his pace got faster, she stood up, stuffed her morse code note in her jeans pocket, and followed after him. Soon enough, they were both running out of the apartment complex’s property and diving to the nearest square, their parents and the runaway killer far from their minds. 

Although it was nearing nine o’clock and many shops were beginning to close for the night, they had loads of fun simply peering into store windows, weaving in between cars in parking lots, waltzing across the streets, and admiring the city lights. They invented their own inside jokes and periodically bumped into one another, both on accident and on purpose. Armin honestly couldn’t remember the last night he laughed that much or smiled that big; he knew he would cherish this moment forever. 

They came upon a goody stand that was still open; a man with long dark hair and round glasses sat behind a wooden cart, filled with all sorts of chocolates, gummies, and other sugary treats. Armin, remembering that he carried about five dollars on him, faced Annie to see if she wanted something. She was preoccupied, however, observing a fluffy white cat that sat on the windowsill of a rundown bar. The cat either was having a bad day or wasn’t fond of children in the first place, for it hissed through the window at her, but Annie continued to stare at it as if it meowed affectionately and rubbed its side against the fingerprinted window. 

Armin decided to let her be and scrutinized over what sort of candy she’d like best. He didn’t know her favorite food—he didn’t know a lot of things about her—but he figured red licorice would be the safest bet (it was a classic, right?). He gave the man behind the cart his five dollars and he gave them back three along with a white paper bag filled with red licorice. He thanked him and then caught back up with Annie. 

He nibbled on the end of a red stick as he lightly nudged her arm. She turned to him and he offered the bag to her. 

She shook her head. “No, thank you.” 

He grinned and poked her again. “It’s red licorice. Haven’t you had it? It’s really good.”

“No.” Her tone was firm and curt; it wasn’t the answer to his question but rather a complete sentence. 

He flinched in the slightest and he felt the all-too-familiar rush of heat in his cheeks. With an uncomfortable, toothless smile, he nodded his head once and went to put the bag in his backpack. He noticed the quick apologetic and desperate look dart around in her eyes like dragonflies and she took a half-step toward him, the tips of her toes bumping against his boot. 

“Well, maybe I can try one.”

He knew she was wholly saying this on his behalf and he was half-tempted to say “forget it” and toss the thing into his backpack, but he figured he would only make matters worse if he did that. She’d feel guilty about herself when she didn’t do anything wrong. So, he held out the bag to her and watch her cautiously pull a single stick out as if it were a scorpion or crab. 

She observed its curvy appearance and bright red color before glancing up at him hesitantly. He was the one who now felt guilty and really wanted to tell her to chuck it into the garbage can if she was that uneasy about it. Was she allergic to it? Was she afraid of trying new foods? This whole thing was a bad decision on his end. 

Her teeth chewed off a tiny piece of it and then she gnawed at it for a good long while before making an effort to swallow it down. She didn’t look like she was going to throw up nor did she look like she particularly hated it. Just very uncomfortable. As if for good measure, she took another bite, a little bit bigger this time, and he actually heard her gulp it down. 

“Are you okay?” he asked her. 

Slowly she nodded her head. She shuffled forward without saying anything, holding her licorice stick like a bouquet while daring herself to continue nibbling it down like a beaver until it was all gone. He trailed after her and he tried coming up with different topic ideas to get her mind off the oh-so-horrible licorice she was forcing herself to eat. She merely nodded or shook her head, though, and when he told her to just throw the treat away and that she wouldn’t be hurting his feelings if she did so, she’d glare up at him and chomp down on the stick and chew it angrily as if to prove him wrong. 

This continued on for a while and when she was two bites away from finishing it, she stopped dead in her tracks and dropped the stick. He saw her ice-blue eyes widen to the size golf-balls, her hand slap over her mouth, and watched her sprint across the street and behind an alleyway. 

Sharp anxiety pierced his heart as he ran after her. He heard the sound before he reached the corner. It sounded more than just that mostly-eaten licorice stick; it was as if she was puking up a whole Thanksgiving dinner. The whole situation made him feel like vomiting too: what was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he just ask her what she wanted? Why couldn’t he not push her forward into trying something she really didn’t want to? This was all his fault; here she was, puking up her lungs and it was all his fault. 

He found her hunched over the snow, one hand pressed against the brick wall, her hair and back shielding the mess she created from him. She lurched forward as another round of strained, gagging noises erupted. When she was done, she took a few deep breaths, covered the puke up with the surrounding snow, and then got back on her feet, her legs trembling under her own weight. 

She turned around and found him staring at her. She tugged down on the hem of her loose-fitting shirt as her eyes drifted awkwardly to the side. 

“Sorry,” she muttered. 

Armin’s shoulder slumped. Without a reply, he dropped the licorice bag and marched over to her. His arms reached out and enveloped her small body against his. He simply held onto her; he didn’t squeeze her tightly or pushed her against the wall. His arms hung limply around her torso with his chin resting on her shoulder. He could vaguely smell the vomit wafting out of her mouth, but he didn’t let it bother him. He just held her like a pillow. 

Annie didn’t hug back (her arms were pinned to her sides). She was stiff as a railing and he could only imagine the hopelessly confused look she was giving to the darkness behind them. Was she never hugged before? He frankly wouldn’t be surprised if she hadn’t been. 

“Armin?” Her voice was tiny and bashful, so unsure of what was going on. 

He closed his eyes. “Hm?”

“Do you like me?”

He couldn’t help but to slip in a little smile at her innocent question. It was remarks like these that made him seem like the older one. “Yes, a lot.” 

“Would-Would you still like me even if I wasn’t a girl?”

His eyes cracked open. Like if she was a boy? A strange query, but no more legitimate. All long as she was she (or he was he), then it wouldn’t matter, right? “I suppose so.” 

He could feel something relax in her frame as she leaned into his arms. 

“I like you too.”

\--- 

Later that night, when they got back home and went off into their separate apartments, Armin went straight to his room, leaned against the wall, and then tapped morse code into Annie’s room. 

“S-W-E-E-T D-R-E-A-M-S,” he dragged. 

He awaited and Annie eventually tapped back, “S-L-E-E-P W-E-L-L.” 

\--- 

Sweat rolled down his back, arms, and legs as he exited the school’s gym and dragged himself to the boys locker room. He tried to keep himself from panting like a dog, but it was just too much. Gym class was the only exercise he got (did running from class to class while carrying heavy textbooks count?) and everything they did drained the life out of him. He knew exercise was healthy, but God, at what cost? 

He heard the other boys’ conversations ahead of him (he, of course, always walking by himself). Connie Springer and Berthold Hoover were the closest to him and the more he unintentionally eavesdropped, the more interested he became. 

“Crazy killer guy strikes again!” Connie declared. He raised a fist in the air and brought it down inches from Berthold’s shoulder, stabbing him with an invisible knife.

“Wait, what? What do you mean ‘crazy killer guy strikes again?’” Berthold peered at him with frightful eyes. 

“You didn’t hear? My brother told me that the guy who killed that one guy in the woods the other day tried killing someone again last night.”

“What? Where?”

“At the high school. He—”

“At the high school?” Berthold jumped in place and looked around them as if the killer himself were within earshot. “But that’s just around the block!” 

Connie cracked a grin. “I know. Isn’t it cool?” 

“That is not cool, Connie. Did he kill someone?” 

“Actually, no. A few students were at the gym late last night and police found one of them in the boys locker room hanging upside down with an empty jug beneath him, just like with the other dude. There wasn’t any blood though, and the guy is fine, but they did find another guy—an adult, an old man—in the showers with his face half burned off. They found a, like, acid bottle next to him.”

“Was the killer caught?” 

“That’s the thing: they don’t know. The acid guy looks awfully suspicious, but, because of his burns, he can’t talk, so they can’t get a confession out of him. He’s in the hospital right now, but he’ll most likely go to trail once he gets better.” 

“If he gets better. Acid? On his face? I’m surprised that didn’t kill him.” 

Armin stared at the back of their heads. So, the killer has an obsession with blood and acid? What an interesting combination. 

The thought of his knife back home floated into his mind, but it left as quickly as it came once he noticed a poster plastered right outside the locker room’s door. It was a promotion to join an after-school weight training class. It was held by the gym teacher, Mr. Shadis, and would meet right after school every Tuesday and Thursday. 

Normally, Armin would totally disregard such an offer, but Annie’s words rung in his head like church bells: Hit them back hard. He was obviously in no shape to do that, but with this class, perhaps he would soon gain the muscle and stamina to knock down his enemies. He stood still in thought for a moment or two before turning around and heading toward Mr. Shadis’s office. 

Through the glass pane of his door, Armin recognized the bald head of his gym teacher, bent over paperwork and still in his basketball shorts. Armin’s shoulders tensed up. Mr. Shadis was a strict teacher and was maybe too invested in his work, considering he was teaching a flock of twelve-years-olds how to play dodgeball, but that told Armin that he meant good, that he expected work out of everyone, no matter who you were. Maybe with his teacher’s constant motivation and Annie’s odd reasoning, he would get stronger and fast. 

He gingerly knocked on the door and, without turning around, Mr. Shadis called out, “Enter.”

Armin pried open the door and stuck his head in. “Hello, Mr. Shadis.” 

His teacher turned his bald head halfway and his dark eyes widened slightly once they came in contact with Armin. “Arlert,” he stated simply in his gruff voice. “What can I do for you?”

“Um, I noticed a poster for your weight-lifting class, and-and I was wondering if I could sign up for it?” He suddenly felt nervous; he could feel fresh sweat bead along his hairline. 

Mr. Shadis hesitated in his awkward position in his desk chair, but ultimately turned back to his work. “You don’t have to sign up for anything. Just show up. First class starts next Tuesday right after school here in the gym.”

“Oh, o-okay.” 

“Is that alright with you?” 

“Yes, sir. I-I’ll be there.”

“Great. I’ll be looking forward to bending that little body of yours into shape.” 

Armin decided to let his strange comment pass by and thanked him for his time before shutting the door and walking back to the locker room, feeling somewhat proud of himself and actually looking forward to next Tuesday.

By then majority of the boys were gone and Armin had the small pleasure of changing in private, but when he went to grab his clothes, he noticed they were gone. All there was were his hiking boots and winter gloves. He wandered around the room, having a faint idea of what happened to his stuff and he was mildly disappointed to find his suspicions correct. He soon found his winter jacket in the restroom, sitting in a recently used urinal and his jeans were nowhere to be found. 

He expected this from Porco (which was why he was mildly disappointed), and he blamed himself for not changing first and then going to see Mr. Shadis. He should’ve known. And so, because it was in the negatives outside, he had no choice but to slip into his urine-infested coat and walk home in his thin basketball shorts. 

He kept next Tuesday in his mind like it was the only thing he had. 

\--- 

Despite the missing clothes and his uncontrollable shaking, his bones frosted and skin numb, he fell asleep pretty quickly that night. After taking a good long shower and slurping down a bowl of hot chicken noodle soup, he went to sit beside the wall in his room and tapped on it: A-N-N-I-E. No response from the other side and when he tried again and met the same silent answer, he figured she was doing something with her dad or was maybe already asleep. So, he snuggled up in his covers and fell quickly into the land of sleep. 

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep when he heard a gentle knock on the door. 

He shifted around a little, but didn’t say anything, figuring his mother would eventually come in and tuck him in or kiss him goodnight or whatever it was she wanted to do. The knock sounded again but this time it appeared like someone was tapping on glass instead of wood. 

Something creaked open slowly and then he heard her voice: “Armin.” 

Still deeply buried in sleep, his eyes remained shut, but his face scrunched at the hazy interruption. “Hm?” he managed between closed lips. 

“Armin, can I come in?” 

He switched onto his side, pulling his covers tighter around him at the blast of cold wind entering his room. “Yeah, sure.”

“You have to say that I can come in, though.”

A sigh. “You can come in.”

He heard the window squeaking close and sensed the bitter cold subside. Tiny footsteps patted across the floorboards and it was only then that his mind began to awaken, realizing who he was talking to and what was happening. Concerned, he started to get up. “Annie?” 

“Don’t look at me.” Her voice quick and a bit harsh, but he knew she didn’t mean it. 

He turned back around, eyes now open and fixed on the closed window. Annie was in his room and she just climbed in through the window. But his window was on the third floor, several meters off the ground with nothing around to pull herself up. Perhaps he was dreaming. 

“How did you get here?” he mumbled to the window. “It’s so high up.” 

Something was moving around behind him like fabric on fabric. He didn’t know what she was doing, but, because this was all a dream, he didn’t question it. 

“I flew,” Annie answered almost innocently. 

He giggled and she giggled back. He suddenly felt the bed lower behind him, the gentle squeak of the springs beneath him echoing in the small room. 

“Please don’t look at me, okay?” Annie asked as she crawled into bed with him. 

“I’m not looking,” he affirmed as he thought to himself, What a strange dream. I guess it’s only fitting that she’s here because she’s a strange girl. 

He sensed her inch closer to him, getting herself situated into a comfortable position. When he moved his arm in the slightest, it bumped lightly against her chest and he was greatly surprised to not feel a shirt or jacket on her. Instead he felt a small round lump, cold as ice. 

His body immediately tensed and blood rushed to his face. “You’re not wearing anything,” he stated, a little terrified, “and you’re freezing.”

“Sorry.” She paused. “Is that gross?” 

He too paused for a while before he finally admitted, “I guess not.” 

Her eyes, he could feel, were stuck on the back of his head. What was she thinking? Could she read his mind? He wouldn’t be too entirely surprised if she could. Strange little girl. 

Near his bare spine, he felt her hovering fingers. They barely brushed the hairs on his skin and, once her fingertips lost their iciness, her touch became braver. Like rose petals, her fingers dragged up and down his back, counting the knobs in his spine, tracing his shoulder blades, and curving along his jutting hips. The sensation was unlike anything he ever felt in his life. Excluding the times whenever his mother or father held him when the other one wasn’t in the room, this was the only loving touch he ever felt. Her fingers were as slow as the sunrise and as gentle as the grass on a warm summer day. It made his heart beat faster yet calm him totally at the same time. He wished this dream would never end. 

“Annie,” he breathed (though intentionally or not was up for debate). 

“Hm?” 

He squirmed deeper into the covers with her, feeling shy all of a sudden. “Do you…want to be my girlfriend?”

Annie shifted behind him, the springs squeaking some beneath her. “Armin, I’m not a girl.” 

His blush deepened. “Oh.” Nevertheless, he tried again. “But do you want to start…going out?” 

“Can’t things just stay the way they are?” 

He wasn’t sure if that was a yes or a no. “If you want them to.” 

She hesitated and he felt her touch slide toward the side of his neck. “Well, what sort of things do you do when you go out? Do you have to do anything special?” 

From what little he knew about dating, he believed that a lot of couples often just enjoyed one another’s company, merely staying inside and talking or going on random walks around the park. He figured it must’ve been different for everyone. 

“Um, not really. I guess it mainly depends on what they want to do exactly.” 

“So…nothing really changes?” 

“I guess not.” 

Annie paused again before replying, “Okay. We can go out if you want.” 

Armin couldn’t suppress the smile creeping up on him. “Okay.” 

His eyes fluttered closed and a satisfied hum vibrated his throat when Annie’s hand curled around his tiny shoulder like how a koala wraps around a tree. Her fingernails dragged down his arm and over his knuckles and then she weaved their fingers together. He clutched her little fingers tightly as if he could physically hold down this dream and keep it from disappearing into thin air. Her thumb lightly stroked his knuckles and he felt her inch even closer behind him, her nose resting against the nape of his neck and her small breasts against his spine. He wanted to roll over and embrace her or tangle their legs together, but keeping her first request in mind, he stayed where he was until he eventually drifted off once again, darkness swallowing him whole. 

When the sun shone through his window and his eyelids peeled open, the first thing he noticed was Annie’s absence and the heavy defeat in his chest at the realization. He sat up and looked at the space where she laid in his dream last night. But she felt so real as if she was really there. If only he held on a little tighter, maybe he would’ve never woken up and stayed in the simple yet wonderful bliss. 

Sighing, he got out of bed and walked over to his desk when something caught his eye. His notebook was laid open and an uncapped pen sat next to it. Long black lines decorated the page and when his sleep-crusted eyes took a better look, he realized it was a note, a one-sentence letter. 

“If I stay, I’ll die. If I fly, I’ll survive. Yours, Annie.” 

She was really here, he thought in bewilderment. She really came into my room, she really held me until I fell asleep. He smiled giddily at her handwriting, tracing the lovely cursive letters. And we’re really together now. 

\--- 

“Alright, kids!” Ms. Ral clapped her hands twice to get their attention as they shoved their feet into ice skates. “Make sure you stay within my line of sight and not go too far off. I’ll be right over here if you need anything. Oh, and don’t go toward the middle of the pond—I was told there’s a hole there and I don’t want anyone falling in, is that clear?” 

“Yes, Ms. Ral,” everyone responded in dull unison. 

“Alright, you kids have fun.”

Armin, strapped into his old pair of ice skates from his father, stared solemnly ahead, watching his classmates slide across the park’s frozen pond. Mina and Hannah held hands as they giggled wildly, slowly turning around in tiny circles. Connie and Berthold played invisible hockey with two skinny sticks they found. Normally Armin would be excited to go skating, but it was only fun when was with someone he knew and liked. His classmates only knew him for being the weirdo who read “murder books” for fun. So, no, this definitely wasn’t going to go well. 

As if to add to his personal turmoil, Porco snuck up behind him and leaned on his shoulder. “Care for a swim later on?” he smirked, giving him a little nudge as he, Floch, and Marlowe slowly skated away like sharks searching for prey. 

Armin sighed to himself. He wished Annie were here. 

Instead of engaging with Ms. Ral or any of his classmates, he strayed near the border of the pond, exploring on his own account. His eyes periodically switched from his worn-out skates to the flaky snow on the ground beside him. He saw tree roots and fallen branches and the occasional crumpled-up beer can, but other than that, no magnificent discovery could be spotted. Determined to not let boredom overtake him, he dug through the thicker piles of snow in hopes of finding something. 

It took some time, but eventually his gloved hands knocked against something hard. He dug a bit further and came upon a long metal pole with a thick rubber band around the end. He wasn’t one hundred percent sure what it was, but it reminded him of something a dogcatcher would use to grab a rabid dog in. It wasn’t spectacular, but it was something to keep him busy for the next hour. 

He continued skating (again lingering by the border) with his newfound plaything. He stuck the end into the snowy ground and pushed himself onward, pretending he was on a canoe, rowing himself down a beautiful river with no particular destination in mind. He had nowhere to go; he just wanted to enjoy the scenery. 

His imagination was shattered, and he was dragged back into reality when he noticed up ahead (instead of a mighty mountain or a group of tall pine trees) Porco and his minions skating his way. He stopped moving, letting his skates slow to an eventual halt, knowing he couldn’t outrun them. But, he reminded himself, he did have his paddle, his dog-catching tool. It wasn’t his knife, but at least it was something.

For the first time, he couldn’t wait for them to come. 

Porco was the closest to him, but he was still about ten feet away. Floch and Marlowe were even further, but they weren’t really the threats, just the dogs that were trained to follow their master. Armin stared at Porco and he at him. 

“So,” Porco started, “you ready to go swimming?” 

Armin stared at his sly grin and, pushing down the usual spark of fear in his chest, pursed his lips. “No.”

Porco shifted his weight onto one foot, putting his hands on his hips. “Man, what is with you lately? Standing up for yourself and all that shit. You’ve never been like this before. What’s up with you?” 

Armin didn’t respond; he only stared. 

Porco, getting aggravated, glared back with his fists at his sides. “Go to the middle of the pond, Armin. I will push you there if I have to.”

Armin held up the metal pole. “If you come anywhere near me, I will hit you with this.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise.”

Floch clucked his tongue and Porco whipped his head back toward the sound. “What was that, Floch?” 

The redhead flinched. “N-Nothing.” 

“You know what, you take him to the hole. Unless you prefer to take his place.” 

Armin saw the worry apparent in Floch’s eyes. He just stood there, shivering in the cold and looking like Porco just asked him to saw off his own hand. 

Porco turned to Marlowe beside him. “What about you, Marlowe? Are you a little piggy too now?” 

He grimaced, peering off into the distance. “Ms. Ral is right there.”

Porco groaned. “Fine. I’ll do it myself, you pathetic little shits.” 

He turned back to Armin and lunged forward, skating as fast as he could. Even though it must’ve happened pretty quickly, he felt as though he had enough time to think and the rapidly filling space between them was all he needed to act. All Armin could think of was Annie: Hit them back hard. 

Without hesitation, Armin lifted the pole and swung. It was heavy to wield with his pencil arms, but he ran on pure willpower—he didn’t need the strength. The pole slammed against Porco and the boy staggered, falling onto his knees. At first, Armin couldn’t tell what he actually hit for a second, but once Porco started yelling and covering his ear, he knew what had happened. He pulled back his hand for a moment and peered into it, and Armin could see blood coating his exposed ear, trickling down his scarf and onto the ice below. 

At the sight of Porco on the ground and hearing his painful screams echo around the frozen pond, Armin savored at his dream coming true. He thought back to when he practiced stabbing Porco in the gut with the trees taking his place; he imagined what it would be like to be on the other end of the situation. And now here they were, Porco finally getting what he properly deserved. 

Marlowe was right, however—Ms. Ral was right there. She skated over as quickly as the whole affair had unfold. She knelt beside Porco and, seeing the blood, took off her own scarf and tied it around the injury. Her eyes looked up at Armin looming over them, expressionless, still as a statue. Something flickered across her big golden eyes as if she couldn’t believe he would do something like this. 

She shook her head. “Armin—”

Just then, another scream reverberated around the pond. Everyone except Porco looked up, searching for the owner of the voice. The other students, who previously were staring at Armin, were now doing the same thing, searching like a group of pigeons looking for food. Armin’s gaze came across Mina on the other side of the pond, where he hadn’t been yet. She was crawling across the ice, screaming and crying as if she too had been hit across the head with a metal pole. Armin’s eyes moved toward Hannah not far from her. She was frozen in place, peering down at something in the ground. What did she see? What was there that made Mina scramble away like a frightened rabbit? 

“Mina? Mina, what’s wrong?” Ms. Ral called over the noise, still holding Porco in her arms (though his own screams changed into panted breaths). 

“There’s a man in the water!” she cried. “There’s a man in the water!” 

“What?” Ms. Ral muttered under her breath. She switched from Mina’s hectic crying to Porco’s bleeding ear to motionless Armin, obviously stressing over about what to do. “You stay there,” she told Armin eventually before taking Porco with her as she skated across the pond toward Mina and Hannah. 

Everything happened so fast. Ms. Ral had called the police, saying that there was a dead body in the park’s pond and that she needed an ambulance for one of her students. Police cars, an ambulance, and some construction-like truck showed up. Doctors rushed Porco to the hospital and crowded around the startled and confused children, taming any signs of shock or hysteria. The police questioned Mina, Hannah, and Ms. Ral concerning the body in the pond as they surrounded the pond with yellow caution tape. Men controlled the truck with a giant claw at the end and craved out the man (whom Armin only saw from a distance) from the ice. They examined the stiff body and later determined that he had a wide slit in the middle of his throat, and thus most likely making this a case of murder. It reminded Armin of the killer who liked throwing acid and draining blood. 

What stayed in the back of Armin’s head during all of this was Porco’s blood and Annie’s words: Hit them back hard. 

\--- 

Because he wanted to celebrate their relationship with an official “date” (although he didn’t use that specific wording with her) and he wished to share all the things that happened recently, Armin decided to take Annie to the old rec center in the basement of their apartment. No one came down there except for teenagers who would drink and smoke on weekend nights, but, given that it was a Monday night, he suspected they would have the place to themselves. 

He skipped ahead, his mouth running a million miles a minute as Annie trailed behind, politely letting him talk her ear off. “I’m taking weight-lifting classes with Mr. Shadis and even though it’s kinda hard, I can feel myself getting stronger. He said that we’d also be practicing swimming because he said he wants to strengthen my entire body. I’m the only one in his class, so that’s pretty nice because then I can’t feel anyone looking at me. Just Mr. Shadis and Mr. Shadis doesn’t make fun of me.” 

Annie nodded her head, her bare feet dragging across the old carpet. Armin creaked open the door, flipped the light on, and peeked his head in. As suspected, no other life could be seen in the room. There was an old ping-pong table, a couple armchairs, and a table filled with all sorts of empty cups and CDs of bands. He stepped in and Annie followed. 

“Oh, and guess what happened on our field trip? Porco tried to push me down a hole, but I had this metal pole I found in the snow with me and I told him that I would hit him if he came too close. Of course, he didn’t listen, so when he came near, I hit him in the head with the pole. His ear started bleeding so much that he had to be taken to the ER. My mom’s really mad and blaming my dad for what I did, but I think she’ll understand soon. But Annie, I—”

“Armin.” 

He looked back at her. Her back was to him, dressed in only a thin red sweater and black pants. She spun around and her lips curved up in a crooked grin. 

“That’s amazing. Great job, Armin.” 

He smiled back, shutting the door behind him. He felt like kissing her for some reason but decided not to.

They then ventured forth, surveying the remnants of past hangouts. It smelled vaguely of alcohol and cigarette smoke, and only two of the three lights were working in the room. Annie investigated the table overflowing with all sorts of crap. She picked up some old CDs and started putting them in a neat little pile. Armin sat down in one of the grey armchairs, torn in some places but comfortable enough. He stared at the mold growing near the corner of the ceiling for a while, thinking of what he wanted to do next. 

His hand fished through his jacket pocket and pulled out his switchblade. He flicked it open and admired the shiny blade. He never actually used it before (excluding stabbing at trees) and he figured nothing would be better to use than this. After all, he wanted them to stay together, for he had no one else in the world but her. 

“So, what did you want us to do down here?” Annie asked from her place by the table. 

Armin bit down on his bottom lip as he squeezed the blade, running it through his palm like butter. A sharp stinging pain erupted, but it diminished once the blood began spilling. The color popped out against his pale white hand and he marveled over the color contrast before standing up and walking over to Annie. 

She turned toward him as he held out his bloodied hand to her. A deep frown creased her lips at the sight of him. 

“I wanted to do a blood bond,” he told her. “That way we will not only be tied in soul, but in body as well. We’ll always be together this way. I’ve read about them in books before: It’s a bond that’s unbreakable, one that can’t be separated.” He smiled earnestly and, with his bloody hand still reaching out toward her, offered her the knife. “It doesn’t hurt too bad.”

Annie’s ice blue eyes widened, and he could see the muscles in her neck stand on end, her jaw clenched tightly. She took a few steps backward, her hands tightened into rock-hard fists. Her usually calm and comforting aura was now strained with hard confusion and tight anxiety. It was the first time he saw her scared and it scared him a little too. 

His blood slipped out of the pool in his palm and splatted onto the hardwood flooring below; the silence was so loud between them that he could hear the blood splashing beneath him. Annie’s gaze flicked from the tiny puddle forming at his feet to his red palm still outstretched to her. It was like she was in a forest, trying to decide between left and right, light and dark, life and death. Her chest starting heaving with great strain as if she just ran a mile or two. 

Her cracked lips parted and he could make out the sharp edges of her yellowed teeth. 

“Annie, are you—?”

He flinched back a little when she dived forward, but instead of grabbing him, she went for the floor, for the drops of blood staining the cement flooring. She fell to her knees, her usually greasy hair shielding her face from him. Strange noises emitted from her and Armin’s heart began pumping faster and faster. Loud slurping and tiny growls filled the once noisy silence. It was like a starving, rabid cat was at his feet instead of a little girl. 

Her head snapped up and Armin’s stomach dropped. Annie’s sweet, innocent face was no more; she had been replaced with an age-old demon, awakening from a long slumber. Splotches of red lined her lips from where she lapped up his blood. Her bright eyes darkened to a midnight black and the veins in her temples and neck stood on end, making her seem thinner or hungrier. Her lips were pressed tightly as if she were afraid of spilling a giant secret. He spotted her hands, flat on the floor, trembling and her pale fingernails were growing and retracting like a cat’s, not sure to attack or not. 

She then spoke (more like shouted at him) and the sound was anything but her calm, monotone voice. It was as if there were multiple people inside her, all crying out at the same time in different octaves. “Run! Go away!” 

He couldn’t. His feet were stuck to the ground and his stare was locked onto the creature in front of him. What was going on? What is this? Where’s Annie? The creature’s black gaze stared right back up at him, waiting, quivering. When he didn’t do anything, a low snarl ripped through her throat as she flew forward, pushing him out of the way with such momentum that he nearly tripped and fell over the armchair. 

He watched her rip open the door, fly up the stairs, and disappear from his sight. 

For the longest time, he stood there, frozen with fear as a million questions bombarded his brain. His eyes were glued to the open doorway, half expecting for Annie—the real Annie—to come back waltzing down the steps as if nothing ever happened. He didn’t know how long he stayed like that, but it was long enough for his neck to stiffen up at the odd angle his head was tilted. 

He craned his neck back and peeked at the bloodstain on the floor. Nearly all of it was gone (only a drop or two was left behind). His eyes then trailed to his open hand. The blood had stopped flowing now, but it somehow hurt to see just how much damage he inflicted on himself. He tugged off his scarf and wrapped it around the cut, dull stings vibrating in his palm. 

He was suddenly reminded of all the murder victims found in town over the last week or two; Annie arrived at the apartment complex a week or two ago. Their blood was either drained or found in milk jugs; Annie just drank up Armin’s blood on the floor. The bodies were found at night; Annie only came out at night. 

A conclusion (completely absurd yet it somehow fit) popped into his mind and he should’ve been scared of the results. But he didn’t. As he stood there, his hand enveloped in his scarf, all he felt was intrigued and a little hurt that she ran away. 

\--- 

Several days (and nights) go by without a word from Annie. He sat on the playset outside for a few nights, waiting for her to join him, but she never did. He tapped out her name on his bedroom wall, but he was only met with silence. He didn’t understand why she was purposefully ignoring him. Maybe she was still mad about the whole blood bond. But he understood now, so he wouldn’t do it again. Or was she mad at herself? What was keeping her away from him exactly? 

One night, as he laid in his bed, he suddenly recalled the letter Annie left for him a few nights ago. Sitting up, he reached over to his desk and picked up his notebook and turned to the page with her handwriting sprawled over it. “If I stay, I’ll die. If I fly, I’ll survive.” Is that why she ran away? Did she think he would turn her in or ran or scream at her if she stayed behind? Maybe she was so used to running that she forgot when it was okay to stay. 

The anxiousness to see her again overtook his heart and brain, so he threw on a pair of jeans, a shirt, his boots, and his jacket, and marched out of his room. He checked on his mother sleeping soundly in her own room before leaving the apartment and moving towards Annie’s. 

For a minute or two, he merely stood outsider her door, thinking of what he should say or do. Is her dad there? Apologize for the other night? Where has she been? He knew she wouldn’t answer anything she was uncomfortable with, so maybe he should act like nothing happened. No, that was silly. He needed clarification if this was going to work. He’d be honest with her as long as she was honest with him. 

Taking the risk, he knocked on the door. 

He waited impatiently for what seemed like hours when he noticed the doorknob turning. The door creaked open a crack and the lovely blue eye of Annie peeked at him through the slim opening. 

“Hi,” she mumbled, expressionless. 

Armin smiled. “Hi.” 

She was herself again. Her teeth weren’t bared, her eyes weren’t black, her skin was back to its winter snow texture. She looked normal (or rather, how she always looked like) and the sight was relieving for Armin. 

“M-May I come in?” he asked softly. 

Annie nodded her head and pulled the door back more. She stepped aside and Armin took another risk. 

The first thing he noticed was the smell radiating off Annie. She smelled dirty again and her hair hung limply, drenched in grease. All she wore was a large, baggy T-shirt, no pants or shoes. Though he wished she would continue to bath every once in a while, he was glad to see her back in her normal skin.   
The living room was almost completely void of any furniture. There was a lumpy mattress with a few thin blankets positioned by the wall and Armin wondered if that was the wall that was adjacent to his bedroom. A small coffee table was tucked into another corner, filled with all sorts of old antiques like jewelry and candleholders. He saw the only window in the room that was covered up with slices of cardboard and posters. It was eerily silent, and he did feel a bit uneasy as if he were in a haunted mansion. 

He saw the threshold that most likely led to a kitchen and he headed that way. Annie thudded backwards and got in his way before he could get too close. She laid her hands on either side of the threshold and stared up at him, waiting for something. He immediately lost interest in her home and turned his attention to one of her hands. He slowly reached out and lightly pushed his thumb against hers. The rest of his fingers inched forward, covering her knuckles and fingernails. Annie lifted her hand with his still over hers and moved it through the space between them as if they stood on opposite side of a mirror. Whenever her hand moved, his followed, making sure that their palms and fingers stayed attached. 

“Are you a vampire?” he asked into the void, remembering why he was here in the first place. 

Annie didn’t respond right away, but instead kept her eyes locked on their hands. She lifted her other hand and he went to catch it automatically, keeping up this little dance of theirs. 

“I feed off of blood, yes,” she eventually whispered into air. She sounded ashamed, disappointed. 

“How old are you?”

One of her fingers slipped and tucked itself in between his pointer and middle finger. Her touch was cold yet lovely. 

“Thirteen.” Her tone was higher somewhat as if she was proud to admit that this part of her was true. Her gaze then drifted downwards, lost in thought.   
“But I’ve been thirteen for a very long time.” 

“Does your dad know?” 

He clasped their hands together, weaving their fingers together and bringing them to their sides. She looked down at them while she spoke. “He knew, but he wasn’t my dad. He was just a man who was helping me get blood.” 

Armin frowned. “He wasn’t?”

Annie looked up. No particular tinge of sorrow shone in her eyes when she said, “He’s dead now. He was the man who poured acid on his face to cover up his tracks, but it didn’t work. I went to see him at the hospital and I…” She sighed to herself. “I ate him.” 

While holding onto him, she stepped backwards and let him into the kitchen, seeing more of the life she lived. He peeked up for a moment; the room was the same as the living room. The table and counters were bare, and there was a good chance that nothing laid behind the closed cabinets lining the walls. There was nothing in the sink and the fridge didn’t even appear to be running. 

He peered down at her again. “So, are you dead?”

She looked at his chest in thought before shaking her head. “No. I breathe and my heart beats. And I bleed, just like you.” 

Just like you. But they weren’t the same, were they? 

Annie let go of their hold on one another, giving him permission to roam and explore, which he did. He slowly walked around the empty kitchen and then backtracked to the living room. He stared at the mattress placed against the wall and thought about all those nights they passed secret messages to each other, talking about everything and anything, and only they knew, no one else. 

“You don’t have a lot of money, do you?” The words slipped out of his mouth by accident. It just made him so sad to see her own home in shambles. 

“Not necessarily.” 

She wrapped her hand around his again and pulled him to the coffee table. He got a better look at all the nick-nacks she kept on this one piece of furniture: jewelry boxes, empty bottles of perfume, candleholders, earrings, gold dice, lockets, tiny satin bags for carrying change. They were old and rusting in some places, but they were all gorgeous, crafted from the finest smiths and jewelry-makers. 

He picked up one of the dice, examining its rich contents. “Where did you get these from?”

“A lot of different places from long ago.” She plucked up the perfume bottle. “This is from France and these earrings are from Russia. I think the bags are from Hungary and the candleholder is from Germany.” 

A wide smile spread across Armin’s lips as he reached out and took the bottle from Annie. “You can sell these to a museum or antique shop and get some real money out of it. Then you can afford a bed or a nice place to live in, not in these shabby apartment complexes.”

She shrugged. “I don’t need money.”

“Why not? You need money to live.”

“I haven’t lived in a long time. I’ve just been surviving.”

He looked at her sadly. “But don’t you want to live? To stay somewhere instead of running all the time?”

She didn’t answer his question, but instead, looked at him brightly as if an idea just popped into her head. “Do you need money? I think I might have some.”

Before he could answer, she scurried off into the kitchen, her bare feet slapping against the tilted flooring. He put the precious artifacts back on the table. How exactly did she get these things? How old are they? If what she said is true, then she’s been everywhere. But how long has she stayed at these places? Did she really experience any of it or was she just “passing through”? These things really deserve to be in a museum somewhere. 

Annie came back into the living room with several slips of paper money in her grasp. She was counting them, and the several slips turned out to be small piles of money she was leafing through. His jaw dropped open when she pressed them into his hand and felt the heavy weight that came with it. 

“Will that be enough, do you think?” she asked him. 

“Annie.” He leafed through the pile himself, finding a few one hundred dollar bills. “Where on earth did you get so much money? Why haven’t you used this?” 

In the end, he counted three hundred and twenty-three dollars. Some were neatly printed and fresh while others were crumpled and had probably been in her hands for a while. 

He glared at her. “You stole these, didn’t you? You stole these from the people you killed.” 

Annie stared at the money in his hands rather at him. She didn’t want to admit it, she was too embarrassed. Perhaps she was hoping that he wouldn’t ask questions and take the money, but apparently, she didn’t know him too well. 

He shoved the money back into her hands. “I’m not a thief, Annie, and you shouldn’t be either.” He sighed. “I should get going before my mother realizes I’m gone.”

Not expecting her to show him out or do anything for that matter, he tugged on his coat and headed for the door. Still he heard the swift patter of her feet follow after him. He went to grab the doorknob. 

Maybe we’re too different. 

His lips pursed at the thought. It was a cruel thing to think about, considering that she was just looking after him. She ran away to protect both of them, she gave him other people’s belongings because she thought she was helping. It wasn’t fair of him to think of her as the very thing she tried running away from, was it? 

He turned halfway to her and saw her impassive face staring back up at him. She almost looked like a confused puppy, wondering why its master was leaving him behind. 

“Look,” he murmured, “tomorrow night my mother works late; she won’t be home for a while. If you wanna come over…”

A tiny smile graced her lips and her toes curled in excitement. “Okay,” she breathed, and he had to suppress his own smile at the sight of hers. She was really pretty when she smiled like that. 

“Okay,” he whispered back before giving her a little wave. “See you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” she mumbled again, watching him slowly shut the door with attentive eyes. 

He stood there with his forehead pressed against the doorframe for a moment, wondering if Annie was doing the same thing. Just to check, he rapped against the wooden door “B-Y-E”. 

Two seconds later, Annie tapped back the same word. 

\--- 

Armin sat on the couch in the living room, pretending to watch TV, anxious for his mother to leave for work. He sat on his hands and his legs bounced rapidly. He tried covering his impatience with a blanket, but his mother had mistaken his stiff body and shaking legs for coldness and laid another throw around him. 

“If you’re so chilly, why don’t you put your jacket on?” she asked him. 

“I’m fine, really,” he assured her. 

She gave him a suspicious look but shrugged it off and grabbed her own coat. “Okay, little man. I won’t be back until about midnight, but dinner’s in the fridge and I’ll have my phone on me in case you need anything, alright?” She kissed the top of his head. “I love you.” 

“Love you too.” 

Once he heard the door click close, he turned off the TV, hopped off the couch, and ran to the clock on the wall. 3:59 PM. Nightfall should come around 5:30 or so. Hopefully, he should have plenty of time to prepare for Annie’s arrival. He debated for a second if he should cook something (or at least heat up the leftover spaghetti that his mother planned on him having for dinner), but then remembered the whole red licorice incident. She obviously can’t have normal, human food, so that was no longer a problem. Perhaps he should just clean up any sign of his mother’s depression. 

He folded all the blankets draped over the couch and kitchen chairs and tucked them in a hall closet. He collected any dishes lying around and ran the dishwasher. He grabbed an old broom and swept up bits of food that accumulated over the past week. He wiped down the kitchen table and the counters. He dusted shelves and windowsills that were layered with months’ worth of dust. He could feel sweat beading along his hairline, and he swiped it away. He hadn’t worked this much around the apartment in a long while. 

He was in the middle of cleaning the bathroom sink when he heard a knock on the door. His heart leapt to his throat as he quickly threw away the paper towel he’d been using and tucked the cleaning products under the sink. He popped out of the bathroom. He had the curtains around the windows closed and majority of the lights were on. He glanced at the clock again. 6:04 PM. 

She was here. 

He rushed to the door but tried opening it as casually as he could. There stood Annie, dressed in a simple white top and blue jeans with the ends rolled up to mid-calf (though she was still barefoot—he was beginning to wonder if she owned any pairs of shoes at all). Her hair brushed her collarbone and appeared healthy and bouncy. She didn’t reek of body odor this time. She looked nice, beautiful even. 

She grinned at him. “Hi.”

He smiled back. “Hi.” 

She gestured behind him. “Can I come in?” 

He titled his head at her, puzzled. “But I already gave you permission. Remember last week?” 

“That was through your window, not your front door.” 

“Oh.” He looked the doorway up and down, reaching out his hand. “Why can’t you come in? Is there a wall or…?” 

He continued moving his hand around, squinting at the space between them, hoping to catch something that must’ve been invisible to the naked human eye. He heard Annie sigh under her breath and then felt her brush by him and into the apartment. 

Blinking, he looked back at her. She was about six feet into the apartment and giving him an annoyed glare. Overall, she seemed fine. Without taking his eyes off her, he shut the door, but still nothing happened. He waited a few seconds and, when all was still, he grinned. 

“Now, was that so…” 

Annie’s body twitched like a bug when you stepped on it but didn’t end its life. Quiet choking sounds bubbled from her throat and her eyes started to roll back into her head. Blood began to leak out of her body in several different places: her scalp, her ears, her nose, her mouth. Even random spots on her body like her shoulders and stomach and fingernails. Her pale blonde hair had noticeable red blotches in it from all the blood oozing out of her head. She blinked rapidly as blood filled up her eyes and rolled down her cheeks like tears. It was like something was tearing her from the inside out; he could almost hear the sounds of an earthquake rumbling from within her. 

Panic seized his heart as he rushed forward, arms outstretched like he was a man reaching out for his lover who was being sent to the gas chambers. “No! Stop!” He grabbed her shoulders and shook her hard. “You can come in! You can come in!” 

At the sound of his words, her body instantly relaxed. He could feel the blood cease through her shirt, slick and surprisingly cold on his fingertips. 

Another bloody tear slipped down her cheek as she furiously blinked through the redness. She then closed her eyes and took a deep breath, thankful that the pain was no more. A tiny smile twitched at her stained lips once she opened them back up. 

His chest lifted in relief like the wings of a butterfly. He exhaled, hugging her close. He couldn’t believe he was that close to losing her so quickly. Life was fragile and death was unpredictable, even for vampires. 

“I’m sor—”

“I’m only a thief because I have to be.” 

Armin pulled back. Annie’s gaze, a brilliant blue against a red backdrop, was stuck somewhere behind him, deep in thought. 

“What?” 

Her stare drifted back to his face and she sighed once more before taking one of his hands and leading him deeper into his apartment. He followed her to the kitchen table where she motioned for him to sit down. He obliged. 

She loomed over him, staring silently for a while and then uttering out, “Last night, you said that you weren’t a thief and that I shouldn’t be one either.   
And…you weren’t just talking about the money, I know now.” 

Armin rubbed his hands together anxiously. “Well—”

“I steal lives because I have to. I need blood to live and I don’t like doing it, but I have to. And it’s unfair of you to say that you’re not a thief, Armin.” 

“But…But I haven’t killed anyone.” 

“But you want to.” She then stabbed a finger at him and said in a perfect reincarnation of his voice, “What are you staring at? What are you looking at, little pig? Well, go on and scream like a pig!” 

He jolted at her invisible dagger. It scared him of how perfectly she could mock his voice; it was like listening to a recording of his own voice. 

She lowered her weapon and, when she spoke, her tone was back to her normally emotionless voice. “Those were the first words I heard you say. You want to kill, don’t you? Why else would you be stabbing that tree so aggressively? You see? I kill because I have to, but you want to kill for revenge, for justice. Or maybe, somewhere deep down, you think you have to…” 

When the uneasiness failed to melt from his eyes, Annie inhaled and exhaled with thought. She tenderly placed her hands on either side of his head and gave a genuine look. Her hands were cold and he could feel the wet blood stick to the side of his face, but he dared not to turn away. 

“Just be me, for a little while,” she said. “See what I see.” 

And then something remarkable happened. 

All he could see was darkness. He wasn’t necessarily scared of the dark, but something wasn’t right with this type of darkness. It was sharp and quick like a knife, yet bitter and ambiguous like the woods at night. There was a creeping feeling that he wasn’t alone, that something sinister was there watching him, a demon preying from afar and waiting for the right moment to strike. 

Soon, red waterfalls rushed from somewhere above. He looked up just in time for it to come splashing down all over him. He could not feel it, however, but he knew it covered him from head to toe. He could not smell it, but he was certain it stank of pig’s blood. He imagined it would taste delicious, or maybe it wasn’t at all. Perhaps it was as refreshing as a glass of water in the middle of the night, but no tastier or filling as a glass of water. Blood was the life fluid of all living things, so it petrified him to wonder of where so much blood came from. He didn’t want to think if it was enough or not. 

He looked around him wildly, drops of blood flinging into the dark. Where was the light in this? The loneliness was realer than both the dark and the blood, and it hurt the most. Don’t leave me alone with the monsters, he wanted to scream out. Don’t leave me here in this deathless death. His frantic searching soon became hopeless; why would anyone in their right mind want to stay here just to comfort him from himself? It was just him and the dark and the blood. 

Just then, a flash of blond whirled into his vision. He peered closer and realized he was staring at himself. But it wasn’t really him. He was taller and stronger and more handsome. It was then he knew that he was looking through Annie’s eyes, through a lens of love. 

He jolted out of this vision and his eyes recognized the sky-blue orbs of Annie and that same blood that stained her snow-white skin like long, curvy fingernails. He saw the cream-colored walls of his apartment behind her and her red palms cupped at the corners of his viewpoint. Smells, sounds, and the taste of his own saliva returned to him, and he was relieved yet sorrowful. 

Be me for a little while. 

His gaze locked itself onto Annie’s as he breathed out the words, “I’m sorry.” 

The look he received told him everything he needed to know. 

Guilt weighed heavily in his heart, but still he attempted to lighten the mood and fix what he broke. He showed Annie the bathroom and gave her a towel. “Do you need anything to get the blood off?” he asked her. She shook her head firmly like she knew exactly what she was doing, but thanked him for the assistance, nevertheless. Once he heard the shower running, he checked the space by the front door for any blooddrops and, when he didn’t see any, began his slow pace around the living room. 

He expected that piece of darkness to follow him, but his mind was oddly focused on her letter. “If I stay, I’ll die. If I fly, I’ll survive.” Due to the recent chain of events, he had a scary feeling that she’d soon be flying away again. If all those blood-drained deaths were her, then the police would come knocking on her door sometime soon. What if there was a family member or a friend of one of the victims that was more hellbent on revenge than he was? It only made sense that she’d run away, so…who was he to hold her back?

The dread that filled him up was never stronger than it had been at that moment. Not when his parents divorced, not whenever he awaited Porco in the hallways. His heavy heart physically dragged him to the floor and he had to stumble back onto his feet. But this isn’t about you, he reminded himself. She’ll surely die if she stays. It only makes sense. 

He quickly swiped at his eyes when he heard the bathroom door creak open. Annie, one hand gripping her towel while the other held her soiled clothes, waddled toward him, hair still dripping wet. As far as he could tell, not a single splotch of blood was found on her. She stopped at his side and looked around them awkwardly with her clothes held out weirdly as if she were looking for a trashcan. 

He carefully took the bundle from her and then gestured to his mother’s bedroom. “You can borrow one of my mom’s dresses. They should be in the wardrobe.” 

She nodded and shuffled forward, shutting the door behind her. 

It was Armin’s turn to look around the apartment awkwardly. He obviously couldn’t just throw away her clothes—his mother would surely find them and start asking questions. Should he attempt at washing them, getting out the stains as much as he could before returning them to Annie? But there was so much blood; how could he manage cleaning it all out? 

He began wandering away when the door opened again. He glanced back and saw Annie step gingerly out of the room with an oversized red checkered shirt on (though it might as well act as a dress, considering Annie’s petite size). Her hands were sucked up in the sleeves and the hem circled around her knees. She shyly smiled up at Armin and spun around slowly, posing. 

Armin cracked a smile, a breathy chuckle escaping his lips. “You’re very—”

He was interrupted by the familiar sound of the front door quietly rattling, a key jammed within its lock. Armin visibly shuddered. Shit. 

He swiftly rushed over to Annie and reached over to shut his mother’s bedroom door behind her. Annie watched him do so, not frightened at all of the presence of his mother. He then grabbed her hand and hurried down the hall, pass the front door, and into his own bedroom. He locked them both in just as his mother opened the door. 

“Armin?” she called out. 

“Y-Yes?” He scurried around his room like a lost duckling, not really sure of what to do beyond this point. 

“Did you just take a shower?”

“Uh, yeah. I did.”

“Well, you forgot to turn the fan on again.”

Without saying a word, Annie took her clothes from him, darted to his window, pushed it open, and then jumped onto the windowsill. His hand stretched out to steady her, but her fingernails and toenails dramatically grew twice their size in the flip of a switch as she effortlessly swung out the window. He peeked out just in time to see her land safely on the sill of her window, toenails digging into brick to keep herself stable. She threw her head back and her lips stretched into a playful smile. He beamed back as she slithered back into her own apartment. 

Luckily, his mother didn’t press too many questions when she found the used towel in her room and the lack of a fan running in the foggy bathroom. Armin apologized and asked her why she was home so early. She simply got off early, she said, and Armin had to repress his disappointed frown. He returned to his bedroom shortly after kissing his mother goodnight. 

He was in the middle of dressing for bed when he heard tapping and dragging on his wall. Immediately recognizing the morse code for “come”, he slid to his knees on the floor and listened intently. 

“C-O-M-E T-O-M-O-R-R-O-W,” Annie tapped. “D-O-O-R O-P-E-N.” 

Tomorrow was a Saturday, and his mother had another shift in the early evening, so he would be alone before the sun went down. She said her door would be open, which meant that he could go over to her place and wait for her there while the sun was still up. And once nightfall came, they could be together once more. 

With a tiny smile, he tapped back “O-K” and left his fingers lingering on the wall before eventually turning around and going to bed, already counting the hours until the next sundown. 

\--- 

Armin did a whole lot of nothing the next morning and afternoon, which felt entirely strange to him, for he was always doing something. He woke up around nine and, after having breakfast with his mother, finished what little homework he had that weekend. He then practiced the daily workouts Mr. Shadis had instructed him to do (which was basically a bunch of jumping jacks, pushups, and sit-ups). Lunch passed by and the next two hours he spent wandering around his apartment while thinking about Annie. 

His mother kissed him goodbye around 2:30 and, once he saw her car drive out of the parking lot, he grabbed his jacket, knife, and backpack before running over to Annie’s apartment. 

The door was unlocked just like she said it’d be. It creaked slightly and when he closed it behind him, the entire apartment was submerged in darkness. He could still see, obviously, and wandered around the place, wondering where she’d be. He came upon the empty room where the old, lumpy mattress sat in, and he discovered a piece of paper taped to the wall above it. He lumbered over and took it off the wall. 

“Hi, Armin. I am sleeping in the bathroom. Please do not come in. Yours, Annie.”

His eyes automatically fell upon the shut bathroom door across the hall. Out of curiosity, he got up and tiptoed over, but he respected her request and did not open the door or disturb her slumber. Instead, he gently pressed an ear against its wooden surface, listening, waiting. 

There was no sound but his own breathing and the pumping of his own blood. 

He withdrew, staring at the crack beneath the door. She would be asleep for the next three or so hours, at least he thought she would. Was she aware of when it was daytime versus night or was she perfectly capable of sleeping in like everyone else? Did she actually sleep in a coffin or was that just a myth (how could she fit one inside the bathroom anyway)? Either way he let the matter be and stepped away. 

He tossed Annie’s note into a trashcan in the kitchen and wandered around some more. He didn’t open any cabinets or drawers out of respect for Annie’s privacy, but he quickly became bored. He sat down on the mattress and merely stared at the bathroom door. It was pretty pathetic, he believed, to just sit there and wait for the door to eventually open. He peeked at his wristwatch. 2:43 PM. These next few hours were going to be painfully long. 

He shrugged out of his backpack, placed it on its side, and laid his head upon it, letting sleep overtake his senses. 

The sound of a door closing awoke him. 

He blinked once, twice, trying to let his eyes adjust to the new darkness. He looked down at his watch again. 4:39 PM. His eyes travelled up the floor and landed on the bathroom door, which was indeed closed. Was she awake? Did she go someplace else? Did she see him? But it was still daylight outside, so where did that closing door come from?

The back of his wrist rubbed at his tired eyes as he sat up. He covered his mouth with a yawn and was about to jog into the hallway when a startling noise shook his core. 

Heavy boots clacking against hardwood flooring. 

For a split second, he remained frozen with fear. Annie never wore shoes, much less work-boots or combat boots, which is what those footfalls sounded like. They carried weight and Annie was remarkably smaller than Armin. She admitted that her father—no, a complete stranger—had died in the hospital while trying to collect blood for her. She drank his instead, so those noises didn’t belong to him.

A random person just snuck into Annie’s apartment, all because he forgot to lock the front door behind him.

Scrambling to his feet all while trying to be quieter than the air around them, Armin darted into the darkest corner of the room. That won’t be enough, he told himself. His blond hair and pale hands would give him away in this blackness. So, he flipped up his coat hoodie, spun around, and covered his face with his hands, praying that his dark clothing would act as camouflage in this setting. 

He listened to the floor creak under the newcomer’s weight and his heart beat wildly out of control with each step that came closer. Would they hear it, his heart? He clamped down on his mouth, trying not to breathe. It was too much noise. 

He heard a few more steps before they stopped altogether. Everything in his body ceased—his heart, his blood flow, his lungs—and a sickening horror settled deep in his stomach. He doesn’t see me, he doesn’t see me, he tried telling himself. But no matter how many times he hammered it into his brain, calmness never eased his trembling bones. 

He waited for a knife to sink into his neck or a gun to go off and true darkness envelope him. The horrible silence was so long and painful that he almost wished that one of the two would happen, so he wouldn’t have to stand there and wait. But death swept by him like a gentle breeze and the footsteps began again, this time heading away from him. 

He swallowed down a deep breath and peeked back. It was just him and the mattress and his backpack. His eyebrows crinkled in puzzlement. His backpack was there, a valuable item to scavenge if you were a robber. Armin’s ears strained to hear the footfalls, echoing from the kitchen, but he failed to hear any opening of drawers or rummaging around the precious artifacts sitting right there on that coffee table. 

He wasn’t here to steal, Armin realized with a new type of terror, he was here to kill. 

Armin didn’t know how or why he believe that, but why else would a stranger enter someone’s apartment by themselves (a very inexpensive and shabby-looking apartment) and not take anything? They were here for a purpose, a lethal one. And if they were here, then they must’ve known who lived here. It was either the man helping Annie or Annie herself. Perhaps this person was a friend or family member of one of the bloodless victims, and they were here to enact revenge. Either way, Annie’s immortal life was in danger and he had to do something.

He gathered what little courage he had and flew for his backpack. With careful yet quivering fingers, he quietly unzipped one of its side pockets and pulled out his switchblade. He flicked it open and stared at its shiny blade, a gleam of hope in the swelling darkness. 

This was it. This was the chance he’d been craving for a long time. Sure, it wasn’t Porco, the kid he yearned to rain his own vengeance upon, but it was here and he wouldn’t let it fly out the window. He didn’t go to all those weight-lifting classes for nothing, nor did he imagine draining the life out of his enemies by sacrificing the bodies of trees. He had to do this, he was going to do this. 

He crawled to the edge of the open threshold and waited there for the moment to strike. The footsteps were inconsistent, pausing and moving at random times. He’s looking for something specific. He doesn’t know this place. He really is here to kill her. 

Armin considered calling for help for a moment but debunked the idea. Based on all those criminology and serial murderer books he read, calling for help almost never worked. Either no one came at all or they arrived too late. And he was just a kid, a little twelve-year-old boy who happened to have a knife. He couldn’t get far unless he really caught him off guard. Besides, if people came to his aid, they would discover Annie and then everything would truly be over.

His eyes strayed on the bathroom door only three steps away from him. Was she still in there, sleeping as soundly as a baby, completely unaware of what was happening right outside her door? He recalled the warning in her note. What would happen if it was tested? 

The footsteps came closer to Armin and Annie, and Armin crouched into himself, hoodie still up, knife cradled in his grasp. He waited another year for the man to slowly enter his field of vision at last. 

He was unfamiliar to Armin. He had an odd haircut, sandy layers on top and a dark undercut beneath. His facial features were pointed and long, but nothing to the extent of Annie’s Romanesque structure. He had small eyes and a faint beard etching away at his chin and jawline. He wore dark clothing and had on those heavy lumberjack boots that sent shivers down Armin’s spine. In between his fingers, he spotted a knife, but it was longer and curved. A hunting knife, made to cut and dice flesh with effortless grace. 

This man believed himself to be a fox, hunting down a reckless cat, but little did he know that the cat was a black panther, a mountain lion with teeth and claws sharper than his knife.

Armin, fear tightening his muscles and organs, watched the man eye the closed bathroom door and hesitate a moment or two before slowly wrapping his hand around the doorknob. The door made little noise as it slowly fell back and the man let himself in. Armin stood on his jelly-like legs and raised his knife, but his curious dead cat self got the best of him. 

It was even darker in the bathroom, black and silent as midnight. Armin saw the man fiddle with the light beside the wall, but nothing came of it. A tiny window, covered with sheets of parchment paper, was positioned near the ceiling and Armin could make out the glossy whiteness of a small tub. It was filled with something, he realized, something dark and loose. 

The back of the tall man concealed most of his view, but with each step he took, Armin got to see more. Curiosity played with his brain as well, for he squatted down and lowered his hunting knife. His hand reached for the dark things overflowing the tub and when he plucked one of them off, Armin recognized it to be a simple T-shirt. Clothes. Black clothes filled up the tub. 

The man continued digging through the clothes, setting them on the ground beside him. He eventually stopped, staring at something else in the tub. Armin’s heart began racing again when he reached down and pulled up a strand of greasy blonde hair. 

Annie. 

Armin took two quiet steps forward as the man muttered to himself “You little bitch” in a spiteful tone. Armin was right: he was here for retaliation and now he found it. 

The man’s head tilted up toward the concealed window. He groaned “I can’t see shit” under his breath and just as his hand extended forward to peel back the thin layers of parchment from the window, Armin’s rising dread finally spoke. 

“No!” 

The man’s head whipped back toward him, startled by his sudden loud shout. Somewhere in the tub, a low snarl rippled through the air, but the intruder was too distracted by Armin’s appearance to pay attention to it. A deep frown creased the man’s thin lips as he shoved his knife in Armin’s direction, who was shakingly holding his switchblade in the air, uncertainty somehow holding him back from driving it down. 

“Hey!” the man barked. “Who are—”

A ruthless screech, like that of a cat attacking its prey, cut off any potential conversation and Armin saw something that looked like Annie emerge from her makeshift coffin and pounce on the man’s back. She had her bright blonde hair and bright blue eyes, but the color of those orbs were too bright. They were reflective and translucent, a cold shade of winter ice. He watched those eyes lock onto the stranger above her as her teeth—oh God, what big teeth she had—sunk into the side of his neck.

Her lips were gone, pulled back into her sickly pale skin, and was replaced with rows of sharp, yellowed teeth. It reminded Armin of a shark’s mouth, large and razor-sharp. It took up nearly the bottom half of her face—he couldn’t tell where her jawline started or where her strong chin was—and he figured she could stuff his whole head in that abyss-like mouth if she wanted to. Her nose seemed like a snout and her fingernails stretched out into claws. He thought even the tips of her ears pointed outward like an elf or goblin. Her face resembled that of a bat—all she was missing was the fuzzy fur and large, leathery wings. 

Blood spurted from the man’s neck as he unleashed a painful scream. He dropped his knife in his terror and wrapped his hands around Annie’s thin arms which were tightly sealed around his collarbone. He tried removing her nails that were burrowed deep into his chest, but they would not budge. He twisted around, knocking her against the bathroom walls, attempting at anything to get her off him. But she merely held on tighter, her legs curling around his sides, her long toenails sinking into his flesh. She ripped her mouth away and a chunk of red meat tore out of the man’s neck, landing with a wet slapping sound on the tilted flooring. He screamed and she went to the other side of his throat. 

Absolutely petrified, Armin lowered his weapon and took two steps back. There was so much blood; it was filling up the room quickly. With each bite Annie took, more fluid came bursting out of the seams like she knew where each artery was located on his body. The man, weakened greatly and undeniably terrified for his life, was soon showered in his own blood as if he just stepped in from a rainy day. There was a little over a gallon of blood in a full-grown adult’s body, Armin knew, but it seemed like there was so much more. The textbooks had it all wrong—there were oceans of red dwelling within them all. 

Not wanting to see what came next, Armin’s trembling fingers brushed against the bathroom door and gently closed it, letting the man’s screams, the thumping around, and Annie’s chopping mouth muffle behind it. 

His vision swam and his breathing became heavy. He squeezed his eyes shut and focused on his breathing, moving away from the bathroom door and into the open living room. There he stood, trying to drown out the screams and awful noises radiating from down the hall. His mind wandered to what was happening in there, but he steered away from the ideas that made his stomach churn. 

“Calm down,” he told himself in panted breaths. “Don’t think about it.” 

He peeked down at the switchblade still clutched in his hands. He noticed a tiny drop of blood near the tip and the sight of it made him recoil. It was so strange that after all those times imagining of watching Porco’s blood spill from his guts that when he came to the real thing, he realized he never wanted to see it at all. 

He tossed the knife away, watching it bounce across the carpet and hit against the wall. He wasn’t a killer, and he never would be. 

He was so wrapped up in his inner understanding that he failed to realize that the sounds had quieted down, and that the bathroom door had opened again. It was another few seconds before he felt a pair of arms fold over him, hanging loosely on his torso. 

His head turned swiftly to the side. He saw Annie’s chin resting on his shoulder, her triangular nose poking out between the matted strands. Residues of the avenger coated her lips, chin, and cheeks (which was no longer the tiny yet vicious resemblance of a vampire bat), and he could feel the blood on her fingers soak through his T-shirt. Her body was cold, as always, but the feel of it was enough to comfort him. 

“Thank you,” she mumbled into his shoulder. 

He looked at her crimson lips, so red that they were almost black. Her teeth, her deadly fangs were so close to his flesh. Just a slight head tilt down and she could sink them right in; he was the perfect prey, for he was so small, so weak compared to her. But despite this subtle hazard, he didn’t feel threatened at all. He knew she wouldn’t hurt him; even if it killed her, she wouldn’t touch a single hair on his head. 

He slipped out of her embrace and faced her in all her bloody glory. She stared back at him with a sad, exhausted look in her eyes. “Who was that?” he whispered as though he were afraid of the answer. 

She shrugged, glancing at his fallen knife in the corner of the room. “I don’t know his name, but I remember seeing his face a few nights ago. It was the night when we were in the basement.” 

Her eyes flicked up at him and then turned away quickly. His stomach churned in regret and he tried not to dwell on what he tried doing that night. 

“After you cut yourself, I ran toward town. I was really hungry, so much that my stomach hurt and I felt really weak. I didn’t want to hurt you, so I ran as far as I could and waited in the trees for someone else to come. Eventually two boys came. One of them had short dark hair and freckles and I jumped on him. I was pushed away by him”—here Annie motioned toward the bathroom with a limp arm—"before I could drain the other boy. So, he’s either a vampire or dead at this point.” She paused in thought. “If that guy came for me, then he’s probably dead now.” 

Armin simply stared at her in bewilderment. She spoke of all this like it’s happened before, that she regularly got strangers coming after her for dooming their loved ones for a fate worse than death. 

Her shoulder slumped as she muttered the words he knew were coming but didn’t want to hear: “People are starting to notice me. I can’t stay here anymore.”

As if to confirm this, a neighbor from above started banging their foot and yelling at them to stop making so much noise. Their eyes glanced upwards and then slowly drifted down to the floor like autumn leaves. Armin tried containing the bubbling sorrow rapidly filling his chest; he blinked away the burning sensation in his eyes before looking back up at her. 

“When are you leaving?” he mumbled through a clogged throat. 

“Probably tonight. If I stay, I’ll die, and if you’re with me, then you will too.” She studied his face and a mournful expression overcame her features. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

“I-I know.” 

He swallowed a sob, and she placed her hands on his stiff shoulders. They relaxed naturally at her touch and his eyes lifted to meet hers. She hesitated before repeating “Thank you” and leaned in to kiss him. 

She kept her eyes open, but he closed his, a single tear rolling down his cheek as he did so. The blood tasted like rust or iron, but her lips were soft and sweet. Their mouths and bodies didn’t move like how they did in the movies. Instead, they stayed locked, just enjoying one another’s closeness rather than the sensual aspect of it. He could feel Annie’s breath pushing against his nose and it reminded him of the snow, gentle and cold. It was clear that this was a first from both of them, but nevertheless, it was pleasant and felt right. 

A soft smacking sound left their lips when Annie withdrew. Armin’s eyes stayed closed for a moment or two afterwards, letting the feeling on her lips on him burrow deep. His eyelids fluttered open when her hands slipped from his shoulders. She looked at him with an apologetic yet expected expression. 

His heart dropped again. Oh, right. 

She followed him as he trailed back to retrieve his backpack, purposefully leaving his switchblade behind (Annie didn’t mention it, so she must’ve known why he made that decision). He kept his gaze on his feet when he passed the bathroom and tried to ignore the strong smell of metallic wafting from that room. Was she just going to leave the body there? He didn’t want to dwindle on the thought for long but he didn’t want to think about Annie leaving either. There was no escape from the heartbreak and stinging anxiety this time. 

Once he stepped outside her apartment, he turned to stare at her until she quietly shut the door, leaving him alone in the hallway. He continued to stand there as he listened to her rummage around and pack things up. He considered knocking and asking if he could at least help her get situated, but knowing her, she’d refuse the help. So, he kept standing there, silent and still as a statue, until his consciousness told him to go back home. 

He shuffled his feet into his apartment and wandered to his bedroom, dropping his backpack and locking the door along the way. This time, he didn’t hold back the overwhelming loneliness from taking control of his heart and brain. He stood at his window, looking out into the falling snow through his blurred vision. He saw his own reflection and the faint bloodstains that caked his thin lips and white T-shirt. He wouldn’t wipe it away until morning, he told himself, for he felt closer to her this way. 

There he stood for nearly two hours, waiting for something to happen. For her to knock on the door, for her to tap on the wall, for her messy head to poke into his view and ask him if she could be let in. Rationality told him none of those things were going to happen, but he still had that sliver of hope. That hope shattered when he saw a taxi drive up to the entrance of the apartment complex and Annie’s blonde head peek into his line of sight. 

With a deflating heart, he watched her go the same way she came into his life. He watched her shove her one suitcase into the backseat before hopping in and closing the door. He watched her face, shielded by shadow, turn up towards his window, stare for a second or two, and then move back down. He watched the car wheel away, leaving fresh tire tracks in the packed snow. 

As the salt of his tears curved into his ajar mouth, he pressed his palm against the cool windowpane and feel the numbness enter his heart again. 

\--- 

Only two nights had passed since she left but the lasting affect seemed longer. He felt like she had been gone for years, yet he could still recall the way her hair fell around her shoulders or the way her eyes drifted about the floor when she didn’t know what to say. It was like she was lost in a war or in a terrible accident; it didn’t feel like she deliberately left him behind. 

His mother hadn’t noticed a difference in him, nor did Miss Ral or anyone else for that matter. Not like he wanted anyone to ask him what was wrong in the first place, he just wanted to feel noticed like how Annie made him feel. But it was immature to think such thoughts, so he tried his best to go about his schoolwork and chores without thinking of what could’ve been. It wasn’t like he hadn’t felt like this before; he could deal with it. 

He focused on that swimming lesson he would have that night with Mr. Shadis. He wanted to get stronger (for his own sake or Annie’s, it was hard to tell) and things had been going well with his gym teacher. After Mr. Shadis had gotten over the fact that the wimpiest, scrawniest kid in the eighth grade wanted to attend his weight-lifting classes, he encouraged Armin to do more. Sure, his arms were still as small as the rest of him and he still struggled with lifting his own jammed backpack, but Armin had felt a difference in his strength and thought he saw his biceps getting bigger. It boosted whatever little self-esteem he had, and he agreed to meet up with his teacher at the school’s swimming pool around 6:30 PM. 

The school was pretty busy that night (at least the gym was). Kids littered by the bleachers or swam in the pool, practicing their backstrokes or just splashing around. Armin was a little uncomfortable with so many kids around to watch him flail around the water like a freaked-out cat. He would just have to concentrate on himself and Mr. Shadis’s booming voice. 

Several boys walked in and out of the boys’ locker room as Armin changed into his swimming trunks. He couldn’t recall their faces and was a little comforted by that, but when he began to file out of the locker room, he couldn’t help but to notice a familiar voice call out his name and to feel a spark of fright ignite in his chest. 

“Hi, Armin.” 

He turned his head and found Floch standing by a corner locker, wearing a light jacket and swimming trunks. He was shoving a bag in his locker and peeking over his shoulder at him. His expression was tight, uncomfortable, but there was effort in his voice as if he were genuinely trying to make conversation with him. He shut the tiny door and waved a meek hand at him. 

Armin’s eyes scanned the rest of the locker room. He couldn’t spot Marlowe or Porco’s face among the many little boys roaming around the small room. He looked back at Floch whose skinny lips were formed into a tight, white line. This was just as uneasy for him as it was for Armin. Was he really just saying hi? His other friends weren’t around. Maybe, just maybe, he really was just saying hi. 

He nodded his head once in greeting. “H-Hi.” 

The corner of Floch’s lips tilted in the slightest at his response. 

The door of the locker room open and Armin heard Mr. Shadis’s voice: “Armin, you coming? Your lesson is about to start.” 

He faced his teacher, back as straight as a flag pole. “Yes, sir.” He threw one more glance at Floch and waved back before exiting out of the locker room. 

Armin had never been a huge fan of swimming (mainly because he didn’t know how). The smell of chlorine slammed him like a brick wall and he repeatedly told himself that he wouldn’t drown. He’d gotten stronger, he could do this. And, if worse came to worse, then Mr. Shadis would save him.   
They started at one end of the pool, the end where he could stand up in and the water lapped around his mid-torso. Mr. Shadis stood above him in his usual green T-shirt and black basketball shorts, a whistle around his neck. He instructed him on how to stay afloat in deep water, how to perform a butterfly, and did some breathing exercises with him so he could hold his breath longer while underwater. When both Mr. Shadis and Armin felt comfortable enough, they moved to the other end of the pool, a six foot drop that Armin had to constantly kick around to stay above the water. 

Mr. Shadis reminded him of what he was just taught and moved with him as he slowly swam from one corner to the other. When he finished his first lap, Mr. Shadis applauded him a job well done and was about to gesture for him to do it again when Floch came running up to his side. 

Armin rubbed his eyes and peered up at him. Floch’s brown eyes were wide as he mumbled into Mr. Shadis’s ear. His gym teacher’s sullen gaze widened as well and then he abruptly turned away, marching toward the pool’s exit. 

“The hell you mean the dumpster’s on fire?” he barked to no one in particular. He grabbed a lone jacket that was sitting on the bleachers, shrugged into it, and then he was gone, storming down the hallway before turning to the school’s back door. 

Armin’s eyebrows crinkled in confusion. There was a dumpster on fire? How did that happen? Did Mr. Shadis need help? 

His eyes peered up at Floch, who now had replaced his teacher’s spot. He looked down at him and shrugged comically. He then smoothed back his red hair and made an angry face at him, mimicking their gym teacher. 

“The hell you mean the dumpster’s on fire?” he mocked in a gruff voice as if he’d been smoking a pack a day. 

Armin giggled at his impersonation and lapped over to him, gripping the edge of the pool to keep himself afloat. Floch kept his hair back as he waltzed around, telling random kids to drop down and give him twenty. Armin couldn’t help but laugh. It helped soften the numbness in his heart, but it was quickly betrayed once the door whipped back open and three boys came striding in. 

He immediately recognized Porco’s hard face, his left ear wrapped in white bandages. Marlowe, as usual, trailed behind with his head down in shame. But instead of Floch between them, there was a taller, broader boy who had the same hard face as Porco. His hair and eyes were darker and, although he never met him in person, Armin knew exactly who he was. 

“Everyone, get out!” this taller boy demanded, sweeping his hand across. 

The room, which was only filled with kids at this point, seemed to know who this boy was too, for they scurried away like frightened mice at the claws of a nasty feline. Armin, filled with his own dread, went to push himself out of the water, but one look at Floch above him sent him back, his heart dropping to the bottom of the pool. 

Floch’s face, which was ridiculing Mr. Shadis’s just a moment ago, was now set into an indifferent look, his monotone frown and unblinking eyes telling Armin that this was all for him. There was no escape; this is where he would surely die. 

“I said get out!” the boy’s voice echoed again, sending violent shivers down Armin’s spine. 

More children scampered out of the pool and practically ran for the exit. Some didn’t even bother to grab their backpacks or towels before darting away. Just as the three boys planted themselves in front of Armin, they were the only ones in the room. Armin was so scared that he could barely keep his grip on the edge of the pool steady—he tried holding himself away from the edge as far as possible, but the further he got away, the more his limbs shook.   
There was no escape. 

The tall boy studied Armin’s terrified expression for a while before crouching down. Armin flinched, bracing himself for a punch in the face, but he merely smirked at him, which was somehow scarier. 

“Hey,” the boy said. “Do you know who I am?” 

Very slowly, Armin nodded. “Y-Yes.” 

His name was Marcel Galliard, and he was Porco’s older brother. He heard the rumors of him bashing kids’ noses in, carving his initials into their bellies. He once heard that he knocked three teeth out of a guy’s mouth, leaving his jaw a bloody mess. How he wasn’t arrested at this point, Armin didn’t know, but he was aware that he was sixteen-years-old, strong as an ox, and that he was coming after him for cutting Porco’s ear off. 

Marcel grinned. “Good. So, we can skip the introductions. I’m assuming you already know why I’m here?” 

Armin exchanged quick glances with the irritated Porco, who was glaring at him like he was the very scum of the earth. Armin settled back on Marcel’s levelled gaze. “Yes.”

“Great. Now, we’re gonna make things interesting here; I’m gonna let you decide your fate.” He reached into his back pocket and brought out a nice, sharp switchblade, similar to the one Armin used to carry. Its blade gleamed under the fluorescent lights and Armin audibly gulped. 

“Either I slice and dice you right here, right now or you stay underwater for, let’s say, three minutes, and I’ll let you go with only one eye.” He gestured to Porco behind him. “An eye for an ear, you know.” 

Floch diverted his gaze to the side, avoiding the horror-stricken expression Armin possessed while Marlowe sighed heavily and went to go sit on the bleachers, his head in his hands. The fear was so heavy in Armin’s frail, little body that he felt as if he were standing naked amongst the winter trees, snow quickly burying him alive. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. There was nothing to do but let nature take its course and take control of his body. But still he tried to defy what was meant to be. 

“But-But that’s impossible,” he whimpered. 

“I don’t care. You do it or I cut you up into ribbons, got it?” Marcel reached forward and grabbed a fistful of Armin’s hair, yanking him toward him. Armin let out a choked squeak, his throat ramming into the edge of the pool, his scalp already burning by Marcel’s strong grip. 

“Better take a deep breath, kid,” Marcel warned as he started backwards from five, each passing digit as loud and daunting as a gong. 

Armin’s eyes whirled around, trying to catch anything that just might help him, but all he saw were the Galliard brothers’ unmerciful faces, the avoided stares of Floch and Marlowe, and the empty room behind them. This was it. This was how he would die, in a place he always dreaded and at the hands of his long-lasting enemy. 

Marcel uttered “two” and then shoved Armin under the water, preventing him from taking that last breath of life. 

Chlorine and his own heartbeat echoed against his eardrums as he squinted into the darkened water, Marcel’s grasp on his hair still tight. As a way of taming his inner turmoil, he attempted counting the seconds until his three minutes were up (or until he blacked out, whichever came first). But he kept on losing count, his fear clouding his mind like a thick fog. He didn’t want to die, not like this. Please God, there had to be another way.

Once his lungs began to catch on fire, he struggled, wriggling around helplessly in Marcel’s grasp, but his eventual killer had no mercy. In fact, his fingernails dug in deeper and Armin felt himself being pushed down further. A round of bubbles escaped his mouth as he let out a silent scream. His instincts told him to reach up and grab at Marcel’s hand, but he was afraid that he’d drive that shiny switchblade into his head if he did that. So, he tried his best to stay in place and wait for unconsciousness to take over, but his body would betray him, and he’d jerk around every once in a while, like dog caught in a bad dream.

He then heard something from above, a high-pitched scream, a prolonged cry. It was muffled and echoey there under the water, so he couldn’t tell who it came from. He tried looking up, but Marcel’s grip prohibited him from doing so. More screams filled the space above, things being dragged around. Through his strained lungs, Armin found a flash of hope. Maybe he wouldn’t die here after all. 

As if to confirm that there indeed was another presence besides those four boys, Armin noticed a pair of legs splash into the water on the other side of the pool, kicking wildly as they moved rapidly across the wide body of water. They moved so fast that Armin knew someone was dragging them across the water, but at an inhuman speed (Armin didn’t even think Mr. Shadis could pull someone that swiftly through water). The legs were then snatched out of the water and, two seconds later, Floch’s head sank to the bottom of the pool, a long misty trail of blood following it. 

Armin’s eyes burned as they widened in shock. 

The hushed screams went on, a chorus of fear and anger. Out of the corner of his eye, a splash of red clouded the blue water next to him, but no body part fell in with it. Armin was tempted to extend his fingers toward the surface to wave for help, but before he could finish the thought, Marcel’s grip suddenly loosened, and he watched his severed arm drift away from him. 

His eyes were glued to Marcel’s arm, peering at the red chunks and round bone that stuck out from his pale limb. Like with Floch’s head, hazy blood wafted from the stump and clouded Armin’s vision. He was so frozen in astonishment that he failed to realize that the screams had stopped and that he was free of Marcel’s clutches. He didn’t realize what was happening until he was physically pulled out of the pool and laid across the slippery tilted flooring. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and coughed violently, spitting up blobs of chlorine water. His lungs burned some more as he finally swallowed down some much-needed oxygen, but it was a good kind of burning. It meant he was alive; he wouldn’t be drowning today. 

The small, cold hands that hauled him out of the pool now assisted him into a sitting position. Those hands were so pleasantly familiar. He once felt them gently stroke his skin and wove into his own hands; these same hands were the ones who ripped off Marcel’s arm and tore Floch’s head off from his shoulders. He should be afraid, yet he couldn’t help but to feel whole and loved. 

“Armin?”

He coughed again and then slowly opened his eyes. The first thing and the only thing he needed to see was Annie’s ice blue eyes, locked on him, driven by mad fear. She looked more scared than he felt just moments ago. Spatters of blood were spewed across her snow-white face and he could see the tips of her sharp fangs peek between her ajar lips. 

A warm smile spread across his cheeks, as warm as his heart felt. “You came back,” he breathed. 

The worry in her eyes melted and was replaced by the unbreakable love they shared for one another. She rested her forehead against his, closed her eyes, and breathed a sigh of relief. They sat there like that for a moment or two before Annie murmured to his lips, “We should go.” 

Armin couldn’t agree more. He let her guide them back through the boys’ locker room, holding her tiny hand tightly. He didn’t see the bodies of Floch, Porco, and Marcel lying in their separate pools of blood, body parts tossed around the room like pieces of food that were left behind. He didn’t see Marlowe, untouched, sitting by the bleachers, gawking at his dead friends. All he saw was Annie and he wouldn’t let her out of his sight ever again. 

\--- 

Armin peered out the train’s window, watching the snow gently fall. The trees were bare but all the more beautiful. Everything was silent, calm, peaceful. Things hadn’t felt like this in a while and he relished in the feeling. 

His attention was pulled away when the light sound of someone tapping on wood distracted him. His eyes fell on the large wooden box beside him. He listened to the knocking some more, hearing the morse code taps and drags. 

“K-I-S-S” is what she said.

Armin smiled at the box, leaned forward, and replied back, “S-M-A-L-L K-I-S-S.” 

He let his fingers linger on the box and he could faintly feel a small press from the inside. The love seeped through the wood and travelled up his arm and then settled into his heart. It had the impact of a tidal wave and he breathed out a contented sigh. 

How powerful a small kiss could be from such a strange little girl.


End file.
